


(Love Is Just) The Tip of the Iceberg

by freckledandspectacled



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, And It's Not Free, Angst, Breakfast, Canon Autistic Character, Consensual Sex, Consideration of Emotional Manipulation, Crying, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Consent, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Enemies to Lovers, Fries Gives Good Advice But He Did Not Sign Up For This Shit, Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, I Make Them Talk About Their Feelings, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, It's Good For Everything, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Mind/Mood Altering Substances, Night Terrors, Past Abuse, Past Character Death, Past Child Abuse, Regret, Resolved Sexual Tension, Tea, Temporary Amnesia, That's Ivy's Perfume BTW, There's a parrot, Though Ed is A Little Confused About Which They Are At First, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Vomiting, technically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-11-21 14:50:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11359683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freckledandspectacled/pseuds/freckledandspectacled
Summary: “Well, you look good,” Gordon says, “What’s your secret?”“Ice is absolutely fabulous for the complexion.”___It's been ten years, and Oswald has decided to thaw Edward. Edward is having trouble making sense of his memories, but the real work in progress is where they stand now.





	1. After The Ice Age

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be a 23k word work, possibly 24k if I make more revisions. It will be posted in six chapters, with the last two chapters being the shortest by a slight margin of about 500-1000 words (because otherwise there would have been one massive final chapter and I flipped a coin to decide which to do). It will update every few days. I can't be specific because I haven't decided whether to do it weekly or not yet.

“You’re so old!” Edward exclaims, teeth chattering as he kneels on the floor. His arms are wrapped around himself, wet hair plastered to his forehead. The suit he wears is soaked through, making the bright green a far darker color, and his hat has fallen off. Oswald had forgotten how _young_ he still was, and his confidence is momentarily shaken. Those had been the first words out of Edward’s mouth, and already he’s managed to chip Oswald’s armour.

“Excuse me?” he says, lifting a brow. Edward seems to realize his faux pas.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Penguin, sir. I didn’t mean— I meant to say that you look older!” Edward stutters out, beginning to rub his own arms. Oswald makes a small noise of acknowledgement, intrigued by Edward’s decision to call him ‘sir’. Victor had said that Edward might experience temporary or permanent memory loss, along with a list of other side effects. He’d only just been thawed, a scientific process that escaped Oswald, save for the fact that Edward had once been in a frozen stasis and was now alive and in front of him.

“What do you remember about me, Edward?” Oswald asks. He’ll work on making Edward more (or less) comfortable once he ascertains what he knows.

“You’re j-just fascinating,” Edward gushes. “I’ve read everything about you, you—“ Edward abruptly stops speaking, confusion clouding his face. Oswald needs him to keep relaying what he knows. He’d rather not be taken by surprise by this weak and shivering enemy. It would only be embarrassing for them both.

“Go on,” Oswald encourages. Perhaps Edward’s memories were rapidly returning, too quickly to convey. He might not be so pliant and submissive, should he come to remember everything.

“You lived with me, in my apartment. You got me out of Arkham… we— we were campaigning together!” he exclaims.

“Yes,” Oswald says, tightening his grip on his cane.

“Oswald, could I just have a towel, or a change of clothes? This is very uncomfortable,” Edward says, rocking slightly on the floor. Oswald casts a look at Victor, silently asking for his assessment of the situation.

“He might become hypothermic if this takes too long,” Victor says, shifting on his feet and tapping his gun with one finger. Oswald nods, then gestures for Edward to stand.

“Follow me,” Oswald says, turning and heading for the guest rooms at the Lounge. He turns to see Edward following with some difficulty, limbs stiff. “Victor, would you—?”

Victor takes hold of Edward’s elbow, catching him up to Oswald at a slightly quicker pace. Edward clings to his arm, leaning heavily on him as they make their way. Victor doesn’t seem swayed. Oswald leads them into the closest room. He heads to the bathroom, grabbing a soft, pale blue robe for Edward to wear out of the closet. Edward and Victor are standing slightly inside of the doorway, arms interlocked. Victors fiddles with his gun, clearly waiting for Oswald to give him the all clear to remove Edward from his person. Edward is studying Victor’s suit with rapt attention, glancing up at his face from time to time.

“You can change into this,” he calls. Oswald tosses the robe at Edward, who misses it. Victor bends to collect it for him, guiding him to the bathroom door. Edward nods in thanks, closing it behind him.

“You’re being awfully nice,” Oswald mutters. Victor turns to him, face impassive.

“None of my subjects have been frozen for as long as he has; I’d like to stick around for observation.” He’s not asking for permission, but Oswald nods anyways. It makes him feel better. Edward emerges from the bathroom. The robe is short on him, the hem ending above his knees, and though he’s tied it shut he holds it closed. It looks fetching on him, Oswald notes with dread. God help him.

“May I?” he asks, glancing at the bed. He seems eager to duck under the covers and get warm. 

“Please,” Oswald says, sweeping his arm out and playing the part of gracious host. “I’ll make you a cup of tea, hang your clothes out to dry.” Victor glances askance at him, but Oswald goes on to collect Edward’s things from the bathroom without further comment and leaves the room. There’s a kettle and tea in his office, and he can leave these wet clothes by the space heater to dry. It won’t take but a few minutes. He needs to collect himself. If Edward slowly began to remember everything, he would be dangerous. But with the right gaps… he’ll just have to play it by ear. He’s not unskilled in that regard. He lays Edward’s clothes out, nearly dropping the lot when he realizes Edward had forsaken his underwear as well. Fixing Edward a cuppa afterwards relaxes him, helps lesson that old desire to take Edward into his arms and never let him go. It’s almost disappointing when he finishes and has no real reason to continue to linger. 

He heads back to the room to find Edward with the comforter pulled around his shoulders, sitting cross-legged on the bed and speaking animatedly to Victor. Victor is sitting on the edge of the bed, gun holstered. He appears… _intrigued_. The only things Oswald has known him to pay attention to are his work and his late wife. He supposes Ed qualifies as work.

“— what you’ve done. I believe I have most of my memories, I even recall you freezing me. It’s fragmented, though. I’m not sure how I got to the docks, and I seem to have at least three distinct memories of them, though the context is unclear. You say I’m the longest to have been under?” Victor nods.

“It’s remarkable that you remember those last moments. Perhaps they are still in your working memory and have not been committed to long term, which makes them more distinct?” he proposes.

“Fascinating,” Edward gushes. “And quite possible. I suppose we’ll know if I still have the capability to form more memories in the morning. Everything before that final few minutes is very hazy. I feel like I need to create a timeline of my own life to ascertain what fits where. That could be a fun project,” he says, tapping his chin.

“I’m neither a psychologist nor neuroscientist, but Oswald could assist with verifying the accuracy of your recollection, I’m sure,” Victor says, drawing attention to Oswald’s presence in the room.

“Mr. Penguin!” Edward gasps. “Or… is it ‘Oswald’, between us? You asked me to call you Oswald once, does that still stand?”

“We didn’t exactly part on the best terms,” Oswald says, handing him the tea. Edward snorts at that and takes a sip. “But you can call me Oswald, I suppose.” Suddenly Edward’s eyes widen, and he places the tea back on the saucer in his lap.

“Edward?” Victor prompts. Edward turns to look at Oswald, then back down to the tea. Oswald takes a seat next to him on the bed, wanting to observe his reactions closely.

“I said I would do anything for you,” Edward begins, sounding distant, “but I also shot you, and you froze me. I slapped you… you held a knife to my throat? The ape— Butch! You had Butch choke me… you saved me when he was choking me— was it both? I don’t know why any of those things happened, or the order they happened in. It’s a mess.” Oswald feels his heart rate spike. So, Edward remembered everything, but without context and order he had no idea how they fit together, or what the bigger picture was. He could use that.

“It will take time,” Victor says, “and you may never truly remember. You may just end up deciding on a constructed order based on what we tell you. No one knows the full extent of your memories but you.”

“I meant what I said, though,” Edward insists. “I would have done anything for you, Oswald. What happened? What changed?” Oswald doesn’t want to do this with an audience.

“Please try to have more of that tea, Edward,” he says gently, stroking a hand down Edward’s back once through the blanket. “I’m going to confer with Victor about the best way to present this information to you.” Edward nods and obediently begins sipping the tea. Oswald stands, expecting Victor to follow. He closes the door behind him when they’re both in the hall, walking down it to put some distance between themselves and the door. Edward was not above eavesdropping.

“You can’t lie to him,” Victor says plainly. “He’s intelligent. He’ll piece it together and when he does, any inconsistencies in his memories with be noted.”

“I won’t have to lie, I just have to make him more sympathetic to my side of things,” Oswald says. “I’ll narrate his memories in the context of my experience, my feelings for him. I can even take advantage of any gaps in memory to paint myself in a more positive light.”

“It’s not a good idea. Just tell him what happened, exactly how it happened. Anything else is subjective,” Victor says.

“He already seems to want to think the best of me, though,” Oswald mumbles, thinking over his reactions so far. Edward had been deferent, admiring. He couldn’t seem to understand what had made him go from idolizing and befriending Oswald to shooting him and ending up frozen for some time in retaliation.

“Just don’t be stupid,” Victor says, shrugging. “He seems to be fairly emotionally distant from his memories, more of a casual observer than he is actively experiencing them as he would have when they occurred. Start from the beginning and explain everything as it happened. I have a working hypothesis that he won’t be in love with Isabella to the extent that he was before, and it will be interesting to see if this makes him less affected by your betrayal.”

“It doesn’t matter how he felt for her,” Oswald explains. He’s come to realize this, given years to think it over. “Whether it was casual, or serious, or even if she was secretly an evil clone sent to kill him! And believe me, Victor, I was desperate enough to try and prove that for some time. As well as a number of equally ridiculous theories. It’s not about her at all, at the crux of it.” Victor stands there expectantly, and Oswald is forced to elaborate.

“It’s about what _I_ did, Victor. I betrayed him. I lied to him. I hurt him and I stole something that made him happy because I was selfish and unable to share him. If he finds out I did that… he’ll never trust me, Victor. At best, he’ll want nothing to do with me. At worst, he’ll want me dead again.” Oswald sighs, taking his cane in both hands as he looks down

“Why don’t you tell him that,” Victor says, shrugging. Oswald scoffs.

“Ed isn’t going to forgive me. Even if he came to understand why I did it, even if I could show him that I deeply regret hurting him, he firmly believes that I cannot change my ways. Despite my best efforts to prove it,” Oswald says. Victor shrugs.

“He’s the same person, same personality,” Victor says, “but his history right now is fragmented and confusing. If you tell him this, and you tell him the truth… I firmly believe that the damage he received from being in the ice will, if you’ll pardon the pun, have given him some space to _cool off_ and think about what he really wants. Not only that, but he’ll have several new variables to consider in that you bested him by adapting, then missed him enough that you decided to wake him. You’ve had time to think and mature, Oswald. Give him the same opportunity.” Victor walks away, apparently finished with their conversation and keen on having the last word. Oswald has a feeling that Victor only wants him to be honest with Edward so that he can determine how successful his formula was at preserving the brain, but he makes some good points. Even if he is only trying to sway Oswald for his own ends. Oswald watches him go, and phones Ivy.

“Hiya Ozzie!” a bubbly voice coos. 

“Put Ivy on,” Oswald says, in no mood to deal with Miss Quinzel’s antics.

“Did you defrost lover-boy?” she asks, ignoring his request. “I’d love an interview. He’d make a great case study.”

“Ed is not a project, Miss Quinzel,” Oswald says firmly. “Ivy, please.” Harley sighs loudly.

“Babe? It’s Ozzie!” He hears the phone change hands.

“Do I need to come over?” Ivy asks, concern evident in her voice.

“No, I just wanted to apprise you of the situation. Is Harley listening?” 

“Of course she is,” Ivy says. Oswald huffs. Fine.

“I don’t want her blabbing, Ivy. Ed is having some difficulty processing his memories. I’m going to… I’m going to tell him everything.” Ivy inhales sharply.

“Maybe I should come over…” she says, and he hears her shuffling around.

“That won’t be necessary,” Oswald says, “I’m certainly not in my prime the same way he is, but he’s very weak from the ice. Shouldn’t be trouble. I’ll call you and tell you how it goes.”

“If you say so, Pengy.” Ivy says, sounding uncertain. 

“Go get ‘im, Ozzie!” Harley cheers loudly into the phone, and then it disconnects. He sighs again, pocketing the phone. When he opens the door, Edward is still on the bed, watching him as he comes in. He sits on the bed next to him.

“I’m going to tell you what happened to us, in the order it happened,” he says, voice controlled and carefully monotone. “The details I’ll leave to you to interpret. I don’t know much about your life before we met, I’m afraid.” He takes a deep breath. “I’ll start by telling you that you’ve been the frozen centerpiece of this club, the Iceberg Lounge, for going on ten years now.” Edward gasps, clenching the blankets and studying Oswald’s face curiously.

“Why did you decide to let me out?” Edward asks, seemingly accepting this truth in light of what he’s seen so far. He always did have an alarmingly logical mind.

“That… might be easier to understand later,” Oswald says.

“Is it because you love me?” Edward asks, and the question is innocent enough, though it still drives daggers into his heart. “I remember you telling me that… several times, actually. You seemed distressed. Does loving me distress you? I’m sorry, I just… I don’t know where we left off, or what I’m missing in my understanding of our… _relationship_.”

“I do love you,” Oswald says softly. “I woke you because I missed you. It’s been so long and… I didn’t want to live the rest of my life never having seen you again. Seeing you as you were was enough for some time. Knowing that you couldn’t leave me, couldn’t say or do anything unpleasant. It stopped being enough very soon. You were supposed to be a reminder—“

“To never make the mistake of letting love weaken you again,” Edward finishes. “But you just said you still love me, Oswald. I don’t understand. Have you decided that it wasn’t a mistake? Or that it’s not a weakness?”

“I’ve seen a lot, Ed,” Oswald starts, “There’s a lot you’ve missed. I’ve seen love build and destroy in equal measure, but one thing that always seems to hold true is that those who let love in… their lives are the better for it. Even if it’s fleeting, it’s better to have it and lose everything than to never have it at all. I’m grateful for what we had, but I know we can never go back, that things can never be the same.” Edward watches him closely, then snakes an arm out through the blankets and holds his hand. It’s cold, and Oswald doesn’t have the heart to let go.

“We were together, weren’t we?” Edward asks, squeezing his hand. 

“I can’t remember ever kissing you, or— or anything else,” he blushes, and Oswald is relieved to see that the blue pallor has mostly left his face. 

“But the other memories are so clear…”

“We were never anything more than friends,” Oswald says, taking his hand back. Edward closes his fist around nothing and takes it back into his blanket cocoon. 

“That can’t be true,” he insists. “I let you touch me, and I _despise_ people touching me unless I like them. I fixed your clothes. We ate breakfast together… We were going to have a date! I can’t remember the date itself, but you asked me out to dinner and I said yes. There were _children_ there for some reason… I was going to get wine. I wouldn’t have missed our date for anything,” Edward concludes, leaning forwards. Oswald can’t believe what he’s hearing. He wants more than anything to lie, but… that would only make this worse.

“You did miss it, actually,” Oswald says. Edward’s jaw drops, and then he looks like he wants to argue. Oswald holds a hand up to placate him. “It would have been our first date, but that night you went out to get the wine and you met someone else.” Edward shakes his head vigorously.

“I don’t even remember them!” he shouts, shaking his head. He presses his fingers to his eyes for a moment, like he’s trying to think. When he looks up, his eyes are blazing with determination. “There was no one besides Miss Kringle,” he concludes, sounding for all the world like he’s positively certain.

“There was another woman, Ed,” Oswald chokes out, wanting nothing more than to erase Isabella from existence. This is quite possibly the hardest thing he’s ever done.

“Why would I do that?” Edward says, looking frantic as he tries to collect his thoughts. “I liked you! I wouldn’t have missed that dinner, that isn’t true.” He really didn’t remember Isabella? No, that wasn’t possible. Unless…

“Tell me what you think you remember about Miss Kringle,” Oswald says. Edward looks like he doesn’t want to change the subject, but he goes along with it. He takes a deep breath, composing himself. 

“She worked at the GCPD, in records. She liked making paper dolls, and always loved the little lattes I made her with hearts in the foam. She told me I should let my hair grow out a little, because she liked it curly.” He pauses.

“I don’t think I ever did, come to think of it. Kristen dated a few cops, and they weren’t all nice to her. I killed a man named Tom Dougherty who was hurting her. Then Kristen finally gave me a chance,” he says, smiling fondly. 

“I knew by then I wasn’t her type, and I wasn’t really expecting it, but maybe after him she decided to try something new. I had hoped, but…” So far, everything is lining up with what Edward had told him.

“After we made love for the first time, I told her I killed Tom,” Edward says. Oswald prepares for the sad conclusion. 

“I showed her his badge, and she said she knew what I did.” That… that wasn’t right.

“I had forged a note from Dougherty, and put my name on it. I couldn’t resist, I wasn’t thinking straight,” Edward explains. Oswald should stop this right here, but he needs to know what Edward is confused about before he can untangle this mess. 

“I was so surprised. She knew what I did, and she decided to come on that date anyways. It wasn’t logical.” Edward smiles again; clearly these memories are fond, but his context is all wrong. 

“Then she said, ‘Love isn't logical’. I’d never heard anything so profound,” he says, gazing at Oswald.

“She loved books,” Edward says. “She told me that all the other men she’d dated didn't compare to the lovers she’d spent her life with: Anthony, Cleopatra, Romeo and Juliet, Othello and Desdemona. She told me I was the first to measure up, the one she’d waited for. I’d never been happier. We went on dates, one with Jim Gordon and the medical examiner, Leslie Thompkins. We sort of moved in together, though by that time she was dying her hair blonde,” Edward adds. Oswald doesn’t think he can untangle this, which parts were Kristen and which Isabella. He hadn’t known either well enough.

“When she died…” Edward trails off. “I remember seeing her on the medical examiner’s table. It was my fault. An accident. I kept her up late the night before, even though I knew she was leaving for a trip. Her hair was red again. There was a car accident, she fell asleep at the wheel… I think I went crazy after she died.”

“Ed, there was another woman in your life. I think you’re getting them confused,” Oswald begins gently. Edward looks so lost, and he can’t allow himself to take advantage of his grief again. That hadn’t gotten him anywhere.

“Her name was Isabella. She was blonde, and a dead ringer for Kristen Kringle.” Edward shakes his head, in disbelief.

“You accidentally killed Kristen, Edward. Her throat was crushed—“

“No,” Edward insists, “No, that was a nightmare. I almost broke up with her because of it, I was so scared of hurting her. Kristen helped me work through that, she stood by me. She put my hand on her throat and I didn’t hurt her!” Oswald had never known about this. So that was why the blonde little idiot had been dressed up as Kristen. A shiver goes through him. Oswald knew it wouldn’t have been at Edward’s insistence, because he was going to end things that night. He’d always assumed that she’d dressed as Kristen to keep him from leaving her… but this was something else.

“After you killed Kristen, you thought Gordon was on to you. You framed him for murder, but he proved his innocence and had you sent to Arkham. I got you out. I made you my chief of staff. You missed that dinner with me because you met Isabella while getting the wine. I spent the whole night worried sick, and when you came home the next morning you told me you thought you were in love,” Oswald says, voice cracking hard on the word ‘love’. Edward’s jaw works a few times as he thinks it over.

“That… makes sense,” he decides. “It explains why I— why I missed our date.” Edward had insisted earlier that he wouldn’t have missed it for anything, but a woman who looked exactly like his first love… Oswald could understand how that might have been distracting for him. 

“You fell for her. That night, I was going to try and tell you that I loved you over dinner,” Oswald admits for the first time. “I even had a speech prepared.” Edward looks at him with something like pity, but Oswald doubts the sentiment will last long.

“So, I killed Kristen… and Isabella died in a car accident?” Edward asks. So here they were. The moment of truth at last. He just needs to say it, like ripping off a band aid.

“It wasn’t an accident,” he grits out. Edward looks startled, then pensive.

“No… it wasn’t,” he says, slowly. “Her brake lines were cut… by Butch Gilzean?” Oh, not this again.

“I had Gabe do it for me,” Oswald says. “When you discovered that her death wasn’t accidental, you originally concluded it had been Butch. I played along.” There. Every nasty thing he’d done, though he’d leave out the part about secretly hoping to be Edward’s shoulder to cry on. That certainly wouldn’t do him any favours, and Edward definitely didn’t need to know, or ever find out. Edward is silent for some time, the pity wiped from his face while he searches Oswald’s, as though hoping the answer will be written there, plain to see.

“Why?” he asks. Simple. Pointed. Why? Why had he killed her?

“I wanted you,” Oswald answers. _Tell the truth_. “And she had you. So I had to get rid of her.”

“It was really that easy for you,” Edward says, voice tight as he tries to keep his emotions in check. “After everything I’d done for you, everything we’d been through… it was that easy for you to betray me?”

“Yes,” Oswald says, “I assumed the emotional fallout would be minimal, and I knew I’d be there to support you through your grief.”

“She was innocent,” Edward says, “Your plan was to kill an innocent woman, a woman I loved, and then form a romantic relationship with me. You would have spent the rest of your life living a lie, in a relationship built on said murder— _lying to me_ —after watching me grieve for the person you killed. Even knowing it had hurt me, you still thought you _deserved_ to be with me?”

“That was the plan, yes,” Oswald says. It had been reprehensible, morally dubious, and a horrible foundation for what he had hoped would be a fulfilling relationship. He knew that now; now that it was too late. Edward sucks in a harsh breath through his nose.

“Tell me the rest,” he demands.

“I’m going to keep it simple; I’m sure you can fill in the blanks once I give you the correct timeline,” Oswald says. Edward nods. 

“I let you go after Butch. You used Tabitha as well, dismembered her, actually. Barbara showed up just as you realized he wasn’t the culprit. A few days later you came to me with your resignation. I didn’t realize it until later, but you had been tricking me into confessing my feelings for you. You must have begun to suspect that I may have been responsible, and guessed love was my motive. You orchestrated a haunting by my late father and caused me to humiliate myself on live television.” Ed nods, following along.

“Then you faked your kidnapping to lure me to a warehouse. You left me in a death trap, then sent a man to free me so that I would survive believing that you had tried to kill me. Butch and Tabitha brought me back to the _Sirens_ club, where Barbara threatened to kill me unless I told her where you were. Even though I believed you had fully intended to murder me, I refused. You took me to the docks and shot me, despite passing your test. I came back, of course, and looked for you, but you were being held by the Court of Owls. I found my way into the same prison by catching their attention in a negative light, and we escaped together under a truce.” Oswald steadies himself. This next part was difficult. He’d only managed to piece everything together afterwards.

“You came after me in my safe houses, but Fish Mooney rescued me. I was later taken into custody by Jim Gordon, who contacted you because your partner, Barbara Kean, had Jervis Tetch. Jervis was vital to stopping a destructive virus that was sweeping the city, making him quite valuable. Barbara wanted to trade him in for profit and a sizable piece of territory, but Jim knew that you wanted to kill me more than anything, and that you had access to Jervis. If he went though you and exchanged me, Barbara would get nothing, and the city would be saved. The exchange went bad, and I was able to escape. I knocked you unconscious and then set you up… I’m sure you know the rest.” Edward’s face is unreadable, and Oswald doesn’t usually have that problem with him.

“You let me believe I had the upper hand… you knew I’d take you to the docks when I got the chance,” Ed says. He sounds unsure, and Oswald nods. “Earlier you called that red haired girl you’d been with in the safe houses—“

“Ivy,” Oswald supplies.

“Ivy,” Edward repeats, “and Victor. Then you froze me. Ten years later, you unfreeze me, and here we are.” It was _nearly_ ten years, not quite, but still.

“Correct,” Oswald says. “Do you need any clarification?” Edward hesitates, shifting on the bed and playing with his fingers.

“There are pieces, but I don’t think you know what they mean, or when they happened,” Edward says. “I’ll have to try and fill them in myself. I don’t think anyone else would know, as I was frequently alone... but I believe you.”

“Do you hate me?” Oswald asks. He wants to take it back the instant he finishes, isn’t sure why he asked. Edward blinks back at him.

“I haven’t decided,” he says. “I’d like to rest now. Sleep is important for consolidating new memories.” That was probably Ed-speak for ‘get the hell out’.

“Of course,” Oswald says, standing. “I’m going to sleep in the room next door. Please wake me if you need anything.”

“Roger that,” Edward says, saluting and collapsing back onto the bed. He’s adorable, Oswald laments. Too bad he might decide to try and murder Oswald in his sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like this I might be motivated to revise faster, otherwise I update at my leisure. Let me know what you thought about their interactions. Oswald's character has changed some, as he matured in ways I think would be helpful to him and are more in line with his character in the comics, but have I deviated too far? Also! It's my first time writing Fries, and I would love to hear what you thought of him. I picture him as someone with a lot of morals concerning love, but little else. Normally my fics with them are more isolated, but they need some outside help now tbh. In this chapter Oswald is mostly setting the record straight for Edward, and in the next there'll be more actual discussion.


	2. A Warming Up Period

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It can wait until the morning, you’re staying here."
> 
> Oswald's assessment of Edward may have been a tad pessimistic. Edward is remembering, and it's not pleasant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things start to turn around here, and Oswald begins to reap the benefits of his honestly. Still no beta. Warnings in this chapter for night terrors, vomiting, and discussion of child abuse (physical and emotional).

He plans to pull an all-nighter, or at least however long it would be until Edward woke. Edward normally slept little, or at least he had in the time Oswald had known him, and he had technically been sleeping for quite some time. Oswald wasn’t sure what stage, something about delta waves… it wasn’t his area of expertise. All he’s certain of is that he is going to spend the night with a good book and a handgun on the pillow next to him. He settles in, stripping to his underwear. He retrieves a robe from the bathroom to have close at hand, and gets into bed. Now all he must do is call Ivy.

“Hello!” Ivy calls down the line, “How’d it go?”

“He didn’t try to kill me,” Oswald says, “So that’s something. Where’s Harley?”

“Late night roller-derby, she likes it better because of the lights,” Ivy says. “Did you need her?”

“No, just wondering.” A small blessing. He didn’t want anyone knowing what state Edward was in unless they absolutely had to. That included Victor (seeing as it was his experiment, after all) and Ivy (because he trusted her and could talk to her about things Victor would not be able to handle delicately). 

“I told him everything, Ivy.” There’s a prolonged silence, and then—

“So… you lied?” Oswald makes an indignant noise.

“No! I told him what happened and he needed to sleep on it, that’s all.”

“So, I should definitely come over,” she says, a knife’s edge of danger in her tone.

“That won’t be necessary, Ivy. He’s weak and unarmed. Edward has no allies, no resources, and nowhere to go. He’s every bit as trapped as he used to be,” Oswald tells her. Well, unless Edward decided to depart peacefully. In which case, he intends to give Edward a small loan to get him started. He’d get eaten alive on the street. Too pretty.

“You’ve got my number,” she repeats cautiously, “Be careful with that one, Pengy. He really did a number on you the last time he was loose.” Oswald isn’t so sure it hadn’t been deserved, at least in some part.

“You know I will be,” he says, hanging up. He stays up for another hour or so, and that’s when he starts hearing small noises from behind the wall. His bed is situated directly next to Edward’s, though the wall separates them. If he was sleeping, he surely wouldn’t have heard a thing. Edward is being very quiet. It sounds a lot like he’s in pain. Oswald hesitates, and goes back to his book. He doubts he’d be a welcome source of comfort, and he refuses to take advantage of Edward’s weakened state like he had the last time his friend had been processing his grief over Isabella. He won’t repeat his mistakes. But the noises continue for some time, picking up in volume. Oswald decides it’s gone on long enough.

He gets up and puts on an undershirt and robe, briefly considering socks but deciding it would look ridiculous. The robe is more conservative on him than it is on Edward, being the same size in every room. He takes the master key and makes the short trip down the hall. Oswald knocks when he gets to Edward’s door, but the crying continues. He knocks harder. If anything, his volume increases in response. _Damn._ He unlocks the door and lets himself in. Edward had dried off earlier, but he’s soaked in sweat now. He thrashes, tossing his head such that the hair not slicked down with sweat curls and fans out against the sheets. Edward has knocked all the pillows off the bed, the comforter is over the side, and he’s twisted himself into the sheets so thoroughly it looks like he’s fighting them to get out.

“Ed,” he says loudly, approaching the bed. “Edward, I’m not here to hurt you, but you need to wake up.” It looks exactly like a night terror. When they’d slept together at his apartment, Edward typically hit the bed and didn’t move until he got up in the morning. Seeing him like this is frightening for many reasons, chief among them that this might become recurring, and that it may ultimately be his fault for keeping Edward in the ice for so long. He gets to the bed, and is nearly hit when he sits down on it. Oswald extends a hand to Edward’s shoulder to rouse him, and he bolts upright, screaming. He lashes out at Oswald, who catches his wrists in both hands.

“Edward, it’s Oswald. You know me, I’m not going to hurt you, look at me,” Edward studies his face, working his jaw and swallowing. His Adam’s apple bobs and catches Oswald’s eye. Edward’s robe has fallen open, revealing a long strip of pale skin down to where the sheets have pooled in his lap. Oswald releases Edward’s wrists like he’s been burned, moving to stand but prevented from doing so when Edward launches himself into his arms, wrapping himself around Oswald and clinging to him like a lifeline.

“Os-Oswald,” he gasps. His fingers claw desperately at the back of his robe, fisting into the thin material. “Don’t go, please, don’t go…” Oswald rubs his back awkwardly and then pulls Edward closer into his chest.

“Alright, if that’s what you want. What happened, Ed?” Edward sobs, and it wracks through his whole body. Oswald immediately wishes he hadn’t asked. 

“You don’t have to tell me!” he says in a rush. “Let me make you some chamomile tea, I’ll be right—“

“Stay,” Edward demands, locking his arms around Oswald as though he actually believes he can keep him there through physical force alone. Oswald could easily leave and come back when Edward had managed to soothe himself into a less embarrassing state. He is going to be mortified when he realizes just how much weakness he is showing to his archenemy. Oswald had done the right thing waking him, but staying was dangerous territory. He wasn’t sure he trusted himself with this. Edward had comforted him when his mother had passed, but Oswald had made a piss poor showing of tending to Edward after Isabella. That, plus the added bonus that Edward’s suffering was of his own doing, making his inability to comfort him even more frustrating. He’s not even sure he’s qualified for this sort of thing; it’s never been required of him.

“I— I’m not—“ Oswald stutters. He’s not sure what he’s not. Not capable of this, not trustworthy enough to handle it correctly?

“All you have to do is stay,” Edward says. “Please.” Well, that sounded simple enough.

“Okay,” he says, patting Edward’s back awkwardly. Edward lets him go, apparently satisfied. He sits back against the headboard, then looks around when he seems to notice the absence of any pillows on the bed. He smiles sheepishly at Oswald, then ducks over the side to grab them off the floor. When he comes back up with his prizes, his robe slips off one shoulder. Oswald can’t manage to contain a gasp at what it reveals. Edward turns to look at him, squinting, no doubt having trouble discerning his expression without his glasses. He drops the pillows on the bed, then seems to finally notice his state of undress. He blushes, quickly tugging the robe back around himself and retying it securely. His hands flutter nervously in the air, and then he grabs his glasses, putting them on like they’ll somehow hide his embarrassment. 

“Sorry, I eh… I usually sleep with more clothes on,” he flushes an even darker color, “not that— not that I’m implying anything!” Oswald’s eyes narrow, he’s not quite sure what he…

“Oh!” he realizes, “No, I’m sorry— it’s not like that, I just noticed… on your back…” Oswald has never seen a person’s face drain of color so quickly. One moment Edward is blushing like a rose and the next his face is as white as the sheets pooled around him. The dark bags under his eyes and the sweat coating his face and plastering his curly hair down onto his forehead give the impression that he is violently ill. Edward stands, fighting his way out of the sheets and dashing to the bathroom. Now Oswald hears the sounds of Edward _being_ violently ill. He is not very good at this consoling thing, is he? Oswald follows Edward to the bathroom and fills the glass on the sink with water, leaving it on the counter. He carefully lowers himself to the floor and begins stroking Edward’s back as he wretches harshly. He should get him some food. Bread, rice, bananas, that was typical for someone with an upset stomach, yeah? Perhaps plain white bread and peanut butter… Edward could use the protein…

“Sorry,” Edward says, flushing the toilet. “That’s disgusting.” Oswald touches him one last time before using the sink to stand. He gives Edward a hand up and passes him the water.

“I can get you a bite to eat?” he offers. Edward looks positively green at the idea.

“I can’t even think of eating right now,” he says, “Maybe later.” Oswald supposes that’s understandable. Edward collects a toothbrush off the counter and begins the business of cleaning his mouth out. Oswald lingers, watching him. They had done this together once, years ago, on a rare morning Oswald had awoken at the same time as Edward. Edward went about brushing his teeth systematically, meticulously; he’d never seen anything like it. Oswald had gotten into the habit of mimicking him, for entertainment value if nothing else. It had made his teeth much nicer looking in the long run, looking back. Edward finishes rinsing his mouth out, and Oswald thinks that perhaps being unconscious again would be better than Oswald’s attempts at soothing him.

“Maybe you should get some rest,” Oswald says, walking back out into the bedroom.

“No!” Edward shouts, hand flying up to cover his mouth following the outburst. He lowers it to speak again. “I mean, I’d like you to stay. I’m not… I’m not remembering very pleasant things, right now.” Oswald pauses by the bed, and Edward walks by him and slips under the covers. He pats a spot on the bed next to him. Oswald hesitates but gets in, hoping his presence is more comforting than upsetting to Edward.

“Did you want to talk about it?” Oswald tries again. That was supposed to help, right?

“What you saw earlier, on my back?” Edward says, looking for Oswald to indicate that he remembers. He nods. “That was what I was having nightmares about. I’ve begun to recollect things from my childhood. It’s jumbled, but the memories that are the clearest are the ones where I was the most afraid. They stand out, and they’re awful. I felt so helpless…” He clears his throat.

“Who was it?” Oswald asks, dreading the answer.

“My father,” Edward says quietly. His _father_ … Parents weren’t supposed to _do_ that, fathers weren’t supposed to _do_ that. From what he had glimpsed of Edward’s scars, just imagining what it would have taken to cause the damage he saw there is _unthinkable_ for someone to inflict on their child. He had barely even seen anything, at that. 

“He hated me. So did my mother, but at least she never used things on me. She usually slapped me, and she never hit as hard as Pop could. Not for lack of trying, of course, she just wasn’t as strong as him. It never left marks like he did.”

“She shouldn’t have done that either,” Oswald whispers harshly. He’s almost boiling over with rage. Fathers being cruel, that was one thing. He had very little experience with having a father in his life, and what he did have was good. When he thinks of Edward’s _mother_ hurting him, it turns something visceral in him. He couldn’t imagine a mother that would do that to her child. Gertude would have had something to say about that kind of woman, he’s certain. 

“I know that,” Edward says, shifting uncomfortably. “At least, I do most of the time. Sometimes I feel like I deserved it. It’s very difficult, remembering and sorting through years’ worth of those bad memories at once. I’m remembering everything I thought and felt about what they did to me, and I’m still figuring out what thoughts were born of the abuse and what was... anything else.”

“You didn’t deserve that,” Oswald says with conviction. “You were a child; no parent should ever lay their hands on their children.” He takes Edward by the shoulders, trying to get him to see that what he’s saying is true, that he means every word. 

“They didn’t deserve you, Edward, believe me. It was through no fault of your own that this happened to you, and there was nothing you could have done differently. You shouldn’t have been put in a position where the fault for actions of the adults in your life rested on you.” Tears prickle in Edward’s eyes, and he swipes the back of his hand over them. 

“Thank you, I really needed to hear that. I had years to try and build something of myself coming from that experience, but now all that progress is so disjointed it’s virtually worthless. I can’t remember how I got past it and found worth… It’s like I have to start over.” He sighs, then looks at Oswald. 

“Did you—?“ he cuts himself off.

“I didn’t know about your childhood, no,” Oswald says. “You never shared that with me, and I don’t blame you for it either. If you had gotten over it, what was the point in telling me about all those bad memories?”

“No, Oswald, I meant… Did you want to see all of it?” Oswald tries to control his reaction, but he knows he must look startled by the suggestion. Edward looks like he’s going to be ill again, taking Oswald’s hesitance the wrong way. 

“Sorry, I know they’re hideous. You don’t have to look at them. I’m sorry.” He covers his face in his hands, hiding.

“Ed, you misunderstand,” Oswald says, pulling his hands away from his face. He’s crying now, tears spilling down his face. 

“I don’t think they’re ugly, I’m just surprised you’d want to show them to _me_.” Edward searches his face, scanning it for deception, then nods. 

“I want someone to understand,” Edward says, “I don’t even think I understand who I am anymore.” _At least I know who I am_. _I know you, Ed._ Was he planning on using Oswald to form his new understanding of himself? The last time he’d tried that, Oswald had been shot and dumped in a river. He’s not sure how he feels about being a part of Edward’s identity crisis again. First, he’d wanted Oswald’s guidance and mentoring on his new path as a killer, then he’d formed himself as Oswald’s most capable ally and best friend. Lastly, he’d been his nemesis, whose death had allowed him to be born anew as the Riddler. What did Edward want him for now?

“What else do you want from me?” Oswald asks. Edward tilts his head and threads his fingers together.

“I haven’t decided yet. It depends on a lot of things,” Edward says. At least he’s being honest. 

“It depends on if you’re right, and you do _know_ me. This is part of that.” He turns on the bed until he’s facing away from Oswald, then shrugs out of the robe. He pulls his arms free and lets it pool around his waist, waiting. Oswald doesn’t move at first, just scans his back. The damage is extensive. He sees where old scars were piled on top of new ones, how whatever his father used had nicked the backs of Edward’s arms and shoulders as well when it came down. There are marks that look like cigarette burns, others like stars, and even more that look like the kind of thing that would happen when a metal buckle met soft skin. Oswald can’t see any farther down than his waist, but the marks clearly continue below it. Was his father drunk sometimes, did he frequently miss his mark and hit Edward’s thighs as well? His arms had certainly received damage from either erratic, furious and unrestrained lashing, or had suffered due to a lack of coordination. Perhaps both, Oswald thinks, shuddering.

“You can touch them,” Edward says. Oswald shakes his head. They’re old, but he feels like touching any one of them will tear Edward apart.

“I don’t think I should,” Oswald whispers. Edward looks back at him over his shoulder, and he is so beautiful Oswald feels like he shouldn’t be allowed to see him like this.

“I’ve never show them to anyone,” Edward says, echoing his thoughts.

“Are you sure?” Oswald says. He’s thrilled at the idea of being the only one to have seen Edward like this, and also abjectly terrified. 

“I’m sure. I had the lights out the only time I can remember being with Kristen. She touched them, but I don’t think she realized. I put my shirt back on right after. With Isabella…” he blushes. Oswald watches how it spreads to the back of his neck as well. “The first time I did the same thing, and the second time we, ah, we barely took our clothes off.”

“Ah,” Oswald says, trying not to allow jealousy to overcome him. His heart still cramps painfully. He reaches out, touching a dark, round one on Edward’s shoulder. Shoulders were safe enough, right? Edward sighs. “Can you feel it?”

“Not well,” he shrugs. “There’s a lot of scar tissue. I always had to clean myself up afterwards, unless my mom thought someone might see, and then she’d help. I didn’t do a great job, and a lot of the time I’d pick at them. Couldn’t help myself. I made it a lot worse than it had to be.”

“You did your best,” Oswald says, smoothing his fingers over another, paler one. It’s long, practically white in color. “Why didn’t you ever tell anyone?” Edward leans back into his hands, sighing.

“They told me no one would want me, that they were the only parents in the world that would put up with a horrible child like me. That they treated me better than anyone else who had to deal with me would because I was biologically theirs and thus their _burden_ to bear.” Edward recites his reasons dully, without feeling. Oswald supposes he should be happy that the earlier hurt Edward was experiencing is gone, but is this any better? He allows another hand to join, and now he’s less interested in touching the scars than he is in touching Edward’s skin. Edward arches back into his hands and hums. 

“They were idiots,” Oswald breathes, stroking over Edward’s back. “Idiots to do this to you, to take such a wonderful gift for granted.” Tears prick in the corners of his eyes, and since Edward can’t see him, he lets them fall. He’d done the same thing to Edward, hadn’t he? Taken him for granted. Edward had saved his life, made him feel loved and understood... he’d been by his side in all things. Then in return, Oswald had hurt him in a way he isn’t sure is forgivable. Edward’s head drops forward, and Oswald can’t see what he’s doing, but his shoulders shake and his hands come up to wipe at his face. He clears his throat, and turns to look at Oswald over his shoulder once more. His eyes are very red.

“So,” he says with affected cheer, “I showed you mine, will you show me yours?” Oswald balks, momentarily forgetting the subject of this particular exchange. _Scars_ , Oswald realizes. _He means scars_. 

“I don’t see why not…” Oswald starts. He’s put on a considerable amount of weight since Edward saw him last, but it’s not like he could hide that. He takes his robe off completely, since he’s wearing boxers and the undershirt. Oswald hesitates, and then the shirt goes too. Ed turns back around on the bed, sitting cross-legged again. He doesn’t move to pull the robe back on, and Oswald find his eyes straying from Edward’s face before he realizes what he’s doing. Edward’s nipples are brown, he notes absently, raking his eyes down Edward’s body to the line of hair on his stomach. He ends his gaze where the trail disappears beneath the sheets. Oswald looks up again, meeting Edward’s eyes. He gives Oswald a tight smile, pulling the robe back on properly. Great, now he’s uncomfortable.

“I remember this one,” Edward says, reaching out to touch Oswald’s shoulder. “Some of these are new,” he comments, giving Oswald a thorough once-over. He pauses when he reaches his stomach.

“I haven’t been in too many scrapes lately,” Oswald says, trying to draw Edward’s attention away from the only damage he’d personally inflicted. The worst one on his body.

“Lie back?” Edward says, and though it’s a question Oswald feels like he must. He lies down. Edward pulls free from the covers and leans over him, face hovering over the scar. He appears to be examining it closely, then he drags a finger over it. Oswald jolts at the feeling, and Edward looks at him as though noting his reaction.

“I’m sorry about this one,” Edward says. Then he bends, kissing it gently. 

“Ed,” Oswald gasps, fingers twitching with the desire to touch him even as he keeps his hands to himself. Is this what forgiveness feels like?

“We need to talk about this,” Edward says, tapping the scar. “What I did, and why. But I want you to know, Oswald, I’m not going to hurt you again. It’s the only thing I’ve decided so far. You know me, better than anyone ever has. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.” He draws his hand away, clenching his fist.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Oswald ventures. “You’re the closest anyone has ever gotten to killing me, so I think I’d prefer to be on your good side,” he jokes. Edward doesn’t seem amused.

“For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted someone to understand me— to _love_ me —for who I am… but I’m not sure who that person is. I think you might,” Edward says. Oswald nods. He’s fairly certain about that, yes. It was how he’d managed to best Ed during their last encounter, after all.

“I just need to— I need to know, after everything that’s happened… You’ve said that you love me and I understand that, but… are you still _in love_ with me?” Oswald was not expecting to have this conversation so soon. He knows the answer, of course. It was the reason he’d frozen Edward in the first place, the reason he’d chosen to let him go.

“Ed… It’s hard to explain. You’re the love of my life. There is never going to be anyone else, and I will never stop loving you. But allowing myself to love again is something I have decided against, and—” Edward presses a finger to his lips, preventing him from continuing.

“That all I need to know. For now,” he adds, taking his finger back. “I can work on the rest later.”

“What do you mean?” Oswald says. Edward tilts his head, then leans down and kisses him on the mouth. He’s fast, pulling away before Oswald can actually process what’s happening. The mint flavor on his lips that Edward leaves behind lasts longer than the kiss had. He’s tempted to pull him down for another, or to steal a kiss, but he’s not sure if Edward wants him to touch him like that.

“It can wait until the morning, you’re staying here,” Edward says, taking off his glasses and leaving them on the nightstand. He lays next to Oswald, lifting a leg and throwing an arm over him so he can pillow his head on Oswald. Oswald freezes, unsure how to touch Edward and arrange himself comfortably, or if it would be welcome. 

“You can touch me, Oswald,” Edward mumbles. Oswald lifts a hand to his ribcage and covers Edward’s hand with his own.

“Is this alright?” he asks, still nervous and unsure. Edward sighs and nuzzles his face further into Oswald’s chest.

“I want you to hold me,” Edward says. Oswald shifts his other arm free and wraps it around Edward, cradling him up against his body so they’re pressed together more firmly. Edward sighs again, more contentedly this time. 

“Good night, Oswald.”

“Good night, Edward.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this better for you? A little more hopeful? Good. (Because the next chapter has all the juicy conflict.)
> 
> Please let me know what you thought and drop a comment. I don't remember my night terrors, but for the purposes of this fic, Ed is someone who can. Was everything tasteful between them? Was Oswald a gentleman? Is Ed seeming a little quick to forgive or have I struck a happy medium/compromise at the end here until they really talk things out in the next installment? And please, bring up any other points for discussion that come to mind. I welcome it.


	3. A Cooling Off Period

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Letting go is so much more difficult when the other party is demanding to stay."
> 
> Oswald has gotten what he wanted, now it's time to move forward. Edward doubts that this true, and has ideas of his own regarding where they go from here. A Frosty intervention takes place when Oswald requests some time to consider his options.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still no beta. No warnings for this chapter apart from discussion of pasts deeds/murders.

He doesn’t fall asleep immediately, too anxious about holding Edward like this. He’s not nervous about Edward killing him— well, not in the traditional sense. This could still quite possibly be killing him, he notes, seeing as his heart rate has skyrocketed with no sign of slowing anytime soon. It quite possibly picks up in tempo when he realizes their relative state of undress, in that they currently only have a pair of boxers and a half-undone robe between them. Oswald sweats. Edward is undisturbed, and fast asleep atop him. He counts sheep. He counts money. He recalls the exact shade of brown that Edward’s nipples apparently are and loses count. He curses, silently, so as not to wake Edward.

At least an hour later, though he has no way of telling time, he does finally manage to fall asleep. When he wakes, Edward is still in the same position on top of him. It’s not even morning yet, judging by the lack of light outside the window. At least Edward is having a restful night. He can’t feel his arm anymore, the one that Edward is currently on top of. He’s tempted to move it, but that might wake him, and he seems so peaceful now. For years, he’d been fixed in agony in that ice, and every day Oswald would gaze upon him. At first it had been no hardship at all. He’d been smug, the sight had even brought him some sort of happiness. The only man he’d ever loved could never leave him, and he’d tell anyone who’d listen the tale of how he’d managed to outwit the Riddler. That happiness had not lasted long.

Eventually the sight became more painful than it was satisfying. He’d been so convicted when he originally decided, so determined to never allow love to weaken him again. Yet the sight of Ed in the ice did make him weak. Recently, he’d had a nightmare that the club burned to the ground, taking Ed with it. The thought of never seeing him again had been unbearable, and Oswald knew then that he hadn’t gained even an _inch_ attempting to escape love’s clutches in the past ten years. He was still head over heels for Edward, but that didn’t mean he had to be a slave to his emotions. Oswald could still resist, even now that he was here. Being with Edward was a mistake. He had just wanted to see him one last time, and then he could bid him farewell and get the closure he needed. Displaying him somewhere he was reminded of Edward every day was _not_ what one would call ‘closure’. 

“Oswald?” Edward murmurs. Had he woken him? 

“I’m here,” he says, lifting a hand to card his fingers through Edward’s hair. He stops after one stroke. Letting himself get attached to this would be unwise. It was unlikely Edward would remain in contact, and it would be better for them both if they never saw each other again.

“You forgot about Tarquin,” Edward mumbles.

“Who?” Oswald says, racking his memory for someone named _Tarquin_ , of all things.

“The birthday boy,” Edward says sleepily, nuzzling into Oswald’s chest. Oh.

“What about him?” Oswald replies stiffly, wondering what possessed Edward to begin discussing this the second he woke up. Didn’t he at least want a coffee first? Or perhaps something stronger, considering the subject matter…

“He was innocent. Killing him was a mistake; you punished the wrong person for the crime,” Edward says, hugging himself closer to where he was before he’d slipped away in his sleep.

“Yes,” Oswald says, unsure where this is going. “What’s your point?”

“It didn’t bother you, did it? Not having things go exactly to plan.” He sits up slowly, resting his forearm on Oswald’s chest to stare down at him. His hair flops down into his eyes, and Oswald brushes it back before he realizes what he’s doing. 

“No, I hardly gave it any thought, actually. No harm, no foul. At least, not for me,” Oswald says. 

“It was supposed to be humiliating,” Edward says, “knowing you had punished the wrong person, exacted your revenge with certainty on a bystander.” Oswald isn’t quite following.

“Well, I never really get troubled by things like that. If it’s the wrong person, so be it. Can’t be undone. If reparations must be made, you make them and move on. Find the right person and make them suffer. No point getting hung up on it,” he says. This is probably about something else, but it almost feels like he’s mentoring Edward once more. Silly of him.

“It was meant to parallel my humiliation at going after Butch when the real culprit had been you all along.” Well, this certainly wasn’t the kind of good morning talk he’d been expecting, but he can’t say he’s surprised. It is Edward, after all. 

“I was mortified. Barbara was the one who told me you were in love with me, did you know that? And that you had Isabella killed because of it.” No, he had not known that. If he had, he certainly would have found her and made her pay dearly for it.

“I didn’t know that,” Oswald says instead, keeping the gory details to himself for now. “Is that why you allied with her?”

“Yes. Tabitha was a mistake, and not one easily rectified. I’m sure she still wants me dead.” He wasn’t wrong. 

“Afterwards, when I realized what you had done… it somehow made Isabella’s death hurt even more. It made me want to be crueler to you when I sought revenge. Killing my lover was enough to warrant torture, but in your case... you had also betrayed me, lied to me, and humiliated me. I had to make up for that by prolonging your agony for as long as possible.” Edward doesn’t even sound particularly enthusiastic about it. It’s as if Oswald’s levels of suffering in relation to the harm he had done Edward was as distant to him as undergoing the balancing of a chemical equation. Nothing personal. Yet it had been, it had been so _very_ personal. Except—

“You know, I always wondered, why didn’t you use my mother? It would have caused me significantly more emotional and psychological distress.” He thinks he knows the answer, knows Edward, but he’d like to be sure. Edward glances away, then looks back and increases eye contact in a way that’s clearly been practiced. For him, it’s a tell.

“Would you believe me if I told you Basil does a terrible impression of a woman?” Edward asks. Oswald can’t help but snort.

“No, I wouldn’t. I know when you’re being deceptive, Ed. Maybe we can work on your tells later,” he teases. Edward smiles in response. When was the last time he saw that?

“I can admit to being a bad liar. It’s one of my only faults,” Edward says, tapping his fingers on Oswald’s chest. Now it’s his turn to laugh. 

“You’re kidding me,” Oswald snorts. “You, admitting to mediocrity?”

“It’s true. I made a list once. It’s alphabetized,” Edward says, the crow’s feet around his eyes crinkling as he holds back laughter at his own expense. Oswald can’t let this go on, he realizes. He sobers instantly, already feeling himself falling deeply for Edward all over again. He sits up, dislodging him.

“I has come to my attention that I too have several faults,” Oswald says, “As well as several things I am at fault for, which I have yet to apologize for.”

“Oswald,” Edward says, “you don’t need to—“

“I really do,” he insists, sitting up against the headboard. Edward copies his position, sitting next to him. 

“What happened between us… the initial blame lies with me. What I did was selfish, and it was unfair to you. I hurt you when it should have been the farthest thing from my mind. The very thought of hurting you should have been reprehensible to me, and I should have put your happiness above my own.” He takes Edward’s hands in his own, kissing the backs of them like a sinner begging forgiveness. He supposes the comparison isn’t far from the truth. He watches Edward as he does, hoping his actions have the impact he intends them to. Edward does not look unaffected by the gesture; his eyes are watering some.

“I am so sorry, Edward,” he says, and he means every word. The tears Edward had been holding back spill over at his apology. 

“The years I’ve spent without you have only shown me how sorry I should be for what I lost when I decided your friendship wasn’t enough for me. No one else has ever met me at my level. Not a single person who’s entered my orbit has been able to hold their own against me like you did, or even tell me no when I needed to hear it. I sacrificed something truly special with you over a woman… for a relationship I was neither ready for nor deserved. I tried to take something from you that should have been freely given.” Edward tugs his hands free and wraps his arms around Oswald’s neck, pulling him in for a tight hug.

“I forgive you,” he says fiercely. “You’re the only one, Oswald.”

“Ed… You have every right to hate me, but I’ve only grown to love you and miss you even more. At first I was comforted by keeping you trapped here, knowing you could never leave me. You could never hurt me or tell me you didn’t love me. I could look my mistake in the face every day and harden myself to it. Then as the years went on… I started to forget the sound of your laugh. I wondered whether my mistake was loving you, or betraying you. The answer soon became clear. Do you want to know what ultimately made me decide to thaw you out?” he asks, though he’s going to tell Edward anyways. He has to.

“Tell me,” Edward whispers into his ear, and he sounds eager. Desperate for the answer, he digs his fingers into the flesh of Oswald’s back, then pulls away to look at him.

“It’s as I said before. I truly just wanted to see you,” he admits. “That was all. Alive, breathing, _here_ , in front of me. I’ve gotten more than that now, and I’m grateful, but… whatever it is you choose to do now, I’ve got what I wanted. However, should you decide you do wish to kill me, I will defend myself.”

“You’ll ice me again,” Edward says. Statement, not question. Oswald shifts uncomfortably.

“That would probably be the most likely solution, yes. I… I can’t stand to watch another person I love die. Especially not by my hand.” Edward nods, as though he finds that an acceptable solution as well. 

“Oswald— It’s strange. I never thought I’d be in the same position as Miss Kringle… finding myself— erm — _in bed_ with the man who killed my lover. You know, I always thought she grossly overreacted, but look what I’ve done. It’s a bit different, of course… Isabella being a source of happiness for me, not pain…” He seems to be thinking through something difficult, brow furrowed in concentration. It’s strange for him to compare the circumstances, but Oswald is intimately familiar with how Edward learns. Like situations become comparable in an effort to establish recognizable patterns that can be juxtaposed with future situations and reactions. The implication of what it means to be ‘in bed’ with him, however, is enough to make Oswald feel a little feverish. If Edward wished to extend this comparison in exacting fashion to their own situation, Oswald finds he wouldn’t be opposed. That concerns him.

“I know it’s probably… _wrong_ to feel the way I do, but despite that, I can’t deny that I miss you more than I miss Isabella. It’s quite obvious, actually, looking back at my behavior. There’s a lot you don’t know about what I went through after I believed I had killed you. The amnesia has been a kind of blessing, in that regard. It’s removed me from my memories somewhat, so I can more objectively analyze my behaviors and feelings.” Oswald is still stuck on the part where Edward said he missed him _more_ than Isabella. He isn’t sure whether it’s satisfying to have gotten one over her, or frustrating, because she’s still the one thing between them despite being dead for going on ten years.

“What has your analysis shown you?” Oswald asks, knowing that every extrapolation of Edward’s has a conclusion.

“Oswald, I told you that you’d never change, but you have. You’ve proven that to me, and… I want to try again,” Edward says, reaching a hand up to cup the side of Oswald’s face.

“I think I’m in love with you,” he whispers, like it’s a secret he’s been holding on to. Edward leans forward and kisses him, and this is not the kind of closure he thought he’d be getting when he was ruminating earlier this morning. He pushes Edward away.

“I think romantic entanglement is a mistake,” Oswald says firmly. “I’m letting you go, but I’m not going to risk love making me weak.” He needed to put a stop to this before they started the same doomed cycle all over again.

“Love didn’t make you weak, it made you stronger,” Edward says, bringing his hands up to either side of Oswald’s face, pleading. “Cowardice and _jealousy_ made you weak. ‘ _Fortune favours the bold’_ , remember?”

“Ed… I think I need time to think about this as well. You don’t have to leave, but I need to be alone for a while. You’re very distracting,” Oswald says, taking hold of his wrists and pulling Edward’s hands from his face. He would be strong for both of them. Put his foot down now so they didn’t have to suffer later.

“You’ve had a decade to think, Oswald,” Edward grits out. He looks positively livid. 

“I know,” Oswald says. He didn’t think it would be this complicated. It had never occurred to him that Edward would want a second chance. Letting go is so much more difficult when the other party is demanding to _stay_ , it seems. “I’ll let you know by tonight how I’d like to proceed.”

“Tonight,” Edward emphasizes. Then he leans in and kisses Oswald again, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. He opens his mouth, licking over Oswald’s bottom lip and dipping his tongue fleetingly inside when Oswald parts them in surprise. Edward pulls back and pecks him once more on the lips.

“Just a little something to mull over,” Edward purrs, eyes half-lidded and voice lowering in pitch. Oswald swallows. Edward had been back less than a day and already he’d nearly managed to kill him with his bedroom eyes alone. Oswald pulls out of Edward’s arms and leaves the bed. He collects his robe from where it found its way to the floor during their nap and pulls it on, suddenly embarrassed by his state of undress. 

“I’ll— I’ll certainly take that into consideration,” Oswald stutters, fleeing the room hastily. He resolves to go back to the guest room and try to get some sleep, and he makes a valiant effort. But the bed is too big and too cold, and he can’t stop thinking about how close he was to falling stupidly in love with Edward Nygma a second time. Perhaps he already has. Or, more likely, he was never _out_ of love with him. Oswald feels a mild panic begin to arise. His decision-making skills were severely impaired by his attraction the first time around… he should have asked for more time. A week, perhaps. Or a month. Eventually he opens his eyes and realizes he’d managed to fall asleep. It’s light out, and that’s enough excuse to get up. He dresses in yesterday’s clothes and goes to fetch Edward’s for him. To his surprise, Victor is waiting in his office. 

“How’s my patient?” Victor says, playing with a snow globe on his desk as he leans against it.

“All of his memories are intact,” Oswald reports, “He feels distanced from them, though he recalls the emotions he was feeling at the time.” Victor nods, considers the snow globe one more, and then sets it down. 

“Were you honest with him?” Victor says, turning those piercing icicle-like eyes on him.

“Perhaps too honest,” Oswald admits. Telling Edward everything, confessing everything… It had been a mistake. Now he had to do damage control. “I haven’t decided how to proceed.” Victor tilts his head.

“What do you mean?”

“Edward would like to form a romantic relationship with me,” Oswald says, trying to keep his voice neutral even as heat rises to his face. Victor preferred to keep discussions unemotional even at the best of times. Oswald has always made an effort of late to better accommodate his allies, following the disaster that had occurred with Edward.

“I don’t understand how this is an issue,” Victor says, folding his hands into his lap.

“I don’t expect you to,” Oswald says. “It’s best that Ed and I remain allies. Friends, even. But romantic inclinations can be used against us, or could tear us apart again.” Victor squints at him.

“If I threatened his life, I don’t think it would make a difference to you whether or not you were sleeping with him, would it?” Victor says, running a finger along the barrel of his gun as though he’s considering it.

“That’s— That’s none of your business!” Oswald sputters.

“No one cares what your relationship status is,” Victor says, “Everyone knows they could capitalize on the bond between you, whatever it is.” Unfortunately, he’s right.

“We could pretend to be nemeses,” Oswald says, though he hasn’t thought the idea through yet.

“How long do you think that ruse would last when you neither interfere with one another’s operations nor attempt to actually harm one another. How much effort are you going to put into staging regular conflicts? It’s not feasible with your schedule, Oswald.” Why did he have to continue to be right; it wasn’t fair. 

“Well, it’s still a terrible idea,” Oswald spits, turning to collect Edward’s clothes in a huff. “For men like us, love will always be our most crippling weakness.” He’s not sure he believes it, but perhaps if he says it enough it will be true. He’s running out of reasons not to do this. Victor doesn’t speak to him again until he’s practically out of the door, refusing to look back at the iceman. 

“You’ll regret it for the rest of your life,” Victor says solemnly, “Believe me.” Oswald turns in time to see him run a thumb under his eye, gaze transfixed by the snow globe once more.

“At least I’ll have a ‘rest of my life’,” he says. When Victor looks up, he almost seems angry.

“I would have given anything for a second chance with Nora,” Victor says. “I wanted to _die_ when she was gone. Don’t throw this away, Oswald. Even being what I am now, knowing the pain it brought me to lose her, I still wouldn’t trade the time I spent with her away.” Oswald looks down at the floor. He feels a little bit ashamed for trying to push away the love of his life, talking to this man who would have done anything to be with his once more. A larger part of him feels like an idiot for not realizing sooner that taking whatever time he had with Edward would be better than living the rest of his life miserable and _alone_.

“Thank you, Victor,” Oswald says. His associate wasn’t prone to openly speaking about Nora, and he knows by now to take him seriously when he is. “You’re right. I shouldn’t deny love.” He nods once, gathering Edward’s clothing to his chest. Then he stands there. Victor watches him. He remains where he is.

“You should go to him,” Victor hints heavily, glancing at the door.

“Of course,” Oswald says, frozen in place by some unseen force. Victor’s jaw sets.

“Well?” he says, raising his brows.

“What do I say to him?” Oswald blurts, suddenly overcome with panic.

“What do you want to tell him?” Victor asks, and though it’s rhetorical, he knows the answer. “Whatever it is, I don’t want to hear it. I want you to tell _him_ , ideally.”

“Okay, right, will do,” Oswald says. “Just tell him.” He opens the door, and looks back at Victor. He does not look amused. Oswald turns back around.

“Oh, and Oswald?” Victor calls. His head snaps back around so quickly he nearly gives himself whiplash. “Ivy’s here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, Victor's romantic side is revealed. I promise this was all the angst I had in store between them. Come on, it wasn't that bad. Edward knows what he wants, and he also knows what Oswald wants. Oswald is just a little hung up on the reason for freezing Ed in the first place (love is a mistake, blah blah blah), and he wasn't expecting Ed to reciprocate his feelings so he had no contingency plan for that, poor thing. He thought Ed was gonna cut and run, and he thought wrong. Good thing Victor is here to kick him into shape! I think he's a great example of ~true love~ and stuff and Oswald could learn a things or two from him. If you're concerned that Ivy is going to make a beeline for Ed, trust me, Oswald is too. You'll just have to wait for the next chapter to find out what she does to him. (Girl talk? Hair braiding? Homicide? Who knows? Well, I do.) Please comment. I would love some feedback on my man Victor (and whether or not I can expect this for season 4), as well as the interaction between the boys. And anything else you'd feel like chatting about or just noting/commenting on! Yikes, this got long. Until next time!


	4. Things Get Heated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivy's intervention leads to new frontiers for Oswald and Edward's relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things get really heated. Warning in this chapter for NSFW interactions/intimacy, the details of which have been tagged. Seriously though, almost the entire chapter is sex. If that's not your cup of tea, leave when Ivy leaves and I'll see you next chapter.

Oh, oh no. If Ivy was here, and she wasn’t talking to him, she was probably with… He practically runs to the guest room Edward is in, dropping one of his shoes on the way and having to go back and fetch it again in his haste. Oswald throws the door open in a huff, chest and shoulders heaving, a pile of clothes in his arms as he takes in the scene before him.

Ivy and Edward are perched innocently on the bed across from one another, legs crossed and leaning towards one another. They’ve apparently been having a heated discussion, and lean back from one another upon Oswald’s unannounced entrance. Edward’s wearing his glasses again, Oswald notes.

“Oswald—“

“Pengy—“

They both burst into laughter.

“You first,” Edward says, “you were waiting to talk to him.”

“Ed,” Oswald interrupts. “Get dressed.” Edward slides off the bed and comes up to him. He leans down suddenly to whisper in his ear.

“Do I have to?” Oswald swallows. Edward takes note of his reaction with a smirk, taking his clothes from Oswald and sashaying towards the bathroom with a little more swing to his hips than what can probably be considered strictly necessary. Oswald watches him go.

“Yoo-hoo,” Ivy calls, waving a little. “I’m still here.”

“I know,” Oswald says gruffly, shaking himself off and settling onto the bed. “What is it?”

“Alright grumpy,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I had a little chat with Ed.”

“About?” he snaps, growing steadily more impatient. Ivy would draw out the reveal _forever_ if he let her.

“About his feelings for you,” Ivy says. “I gave him some liquid encouragement,” she adds, tapping the bottle of perfume around her neck pointedly.

“Ivy,” Oswald warns, “I neither asked you to nor wanted you to do that.” How was Edward supposed to trust him when his closest friends were drugging him?

“He knows that,” Ivy says. “Anyways, he’s legit about being in love with you. He’s not going to hurt you, and he wants to be with you. That’s all of it, really.”

“Really,” Oswald deadpans. “Thanks a bunch, Ivy. That wasn’t anything he hadn’t already told me.”

“Well, excuse me,” Ivy says. “I thought he might like to know that you’re also being honest with him. So it’s your turn now.”

“My turn?” Oswald asks, eyes wide. “I’ve been nothing but honest with him!”

“But how does he know that?” Ivy says. “He might have sounded sure to you, but the perfume revealed doubts about your sincerity, and the lengths you would go for him. Come out, Eddie!” The door opens almost immediately, revealing Edward, still dressed in that damn robe.

“I thought you were changing,” Oswald mutters, eyes still traversing those long legs.

“I was listening in,” he admits. “Didn’t want to miss anything.” He sits down on the bed across from Oswald, Ivy making the point of a triangle. 

“Alright,” Ivy says, clapping her hands together. “Shall we?” 

“Just a moment,” Oswald says. “Ed, I just want you to know… I don’t want to live my life wondering ‘what if’; I want to give this a second chance. I told you earlier that I believed it was better to have love and lose everything than to never have it at all… and now I’ve realized that I don’t have to lose you. It’s true that we can’t go back to how things were, but... I don’t want to. Should you find my answers to be satisfactory, I would prefer to start something new. I’d rather be with you.” Edward smiles wide and launches himself across the bed, enveloping Oswald in a hug.

“Thank you,” he whispers, nearly dragging himself across the mattress by his grip on Oswald to press against him.

“Guys… right here,” Ivy says, sounding more than a little annoyed.

“Right, sorry,” Edward says, releasing Oswald and settling back into his spot. Ivy puts a dollop of perfume on her wrist, then applies it to her neck. Oswald leans in to take a good whiff of it, and Ivy moves her hair back. Once he does, it’s disorienting. He’s never been a victim of Ivy’s perfume, and the sensation is strange. He feels open, susceptible.

“Oswald, lick your toes.” He attempts to do so before he even considers it, though he can’t quite manage. “Okay, that’s enough. What do you want to know, Eddie?”

“Does… just ask him what you asked me,” Edward said. He looks so beautiful, Oswald notes, like the light that surrounds him is softer than usual. 

“Oswald, do you love Ed?”

“Yes,” he answers, leaning towards him as though he’s being pulled.

“Would you die for him?” Ivy says.

“Yes,” he says, taking one of Edward’s hands in his. 

“Would you put his happiness above your own?” Ivy asks, and it occurs to him that she had asked Edward these very same questions. Not only that, but she’d be satisfied with his answers.

“Absolutely,” Oswald says. Edward’s free hand flies up to his mouth to cover a gasp.

“You meant it,” Edward says, lowering his hand. “You actually meant it.”

“Is there anything else?” Ivy says.

“Ask him if he forgives me,” Edward says, squeezing his hand.

“Do you forgive Ed?” Ivy asks.

“Of course, I do,” Oswald says. “I forgave him the _first_ time I thought he’d tried to kill me, was willing to sacrifice myself for him and put his happiness above my own; he was _there_. What’s a little murder between loved ones? This is Gotham, after all.” Edward snorts ridiculously, and even through the haze of the perfume he feels absurdly pleased to have caused him to do so. 

“Truer words have never been spoken,” Ivy remarks sagely. “Are we done here?”

“I’m satisfied,” Edward says, taking Oswald’s free hand in his so he’s linked both. Ivy pulls out something that looks like a smelling salt and holds it under Oswald’s nose. The fog that came with being under the perfume lifts, though he has a somewhat unpleasant scent in his nose now. 

“That was surprisingly enjoyable,” Oswald remarks. “Ivy, could I have some time alone with Edward?”

“I think I’ll just leave you to it for a while, find some earplugs...” she says, edging away. “Have fun you two!” She whirls out of the door, and is gone.

“Seems you two were getting on,” Oswald remarks. 

“Mhmm, she’s very intelligent. I’m going to see about requiring a Rotchschild's orchid for her, she’s been very helpful,” Edward remarks almost... fondly.

“Were the two of you honestly discussing plants the entire time?” Oswald asks, though he doesn’t doubt it.

“Well, once she finished giving me the third degree under the influence of her perfume,” Oswald opens his mouth to interrupt, “Which I consented to! I can tell she cares for you, and I decided that it would be in my interest prove my loyalty to her if I wanted a chance to be with you. I’d rather not make any more enemies so soon, either. Where was I? Right, we talked about you, and then about plants.”

“You talked about me?” Oswald asks, “All good things, I’m assuming?”

“Of course, she told me all the embarrassing things you say about me when you get inebriated,” Edward teases. 

“Oh no,” Oswald says, running a palm down his face. 

“Which, by the way, seems to have happened far too often in my absence,” Edward scolds.

“You’ve been back less than a day and you’re already inquiring about my health,” Oswald groans. “Are you going to make me eat kale again?”

“You liked the kale!” Edward exclaims, “I made you a quiche and you couldn’t even tell it wasn’t spinach!”

“Oh, I knew,” Oswald says, “I just didn’t want to say anything. You thought you were being so sneaky, sitting there and giggling while I ate your healthy leaf thing. Nice try.”

“Well, you ate it,” Edward huffs. “I found the kitchen earlier, and I was going to make you something for breakfast, but… Well, Ivy found me in there, and I wasn’t exactly dressed appropriately for cooking. Certainly not properly attired to be wandering around the kitchen if the staff came in.” Oswald laughs, wondering what they would have done upon seeing the former icy centerpiece of the Lounge puttering around the kitchen in a tiny blue robe making omelettes for two.

“If you decide to accompany me back to the mansion, I promise you can cook me breakfast wearing as much or as little as you’d like,” Oswald jokes, sobering almost immediately afterwards when he realizes what he’s asking.

“I—“ Edward falters, swallowing hard, “I’d like that.” He sounds shy suddenly, squeezing Oswald’s hands and leaning in to kiss him gently. 

“You should get dressed,” Oswald whispers, knowing he’s dangerously close to jumping into this before they’ve talked everything over.

“Or I could not?” Edward suggests, moving over the bed to settle into Oswald’s lap and kiss him again. Compared to the last kiss, this one is obscene. Edward licks over his lip and into his mouth, wrapping his arms around Oswald’s shoulders and his legs around his waist. Oswald tentatively touches his tongue to Edward’s, and he moans appreciatively, shifting in his lap. Oswald is helpfully reminded that Edward is dressed solely in the robe when it begins to come undone. He puts a hand on Edward’s thigh, finding only soft skin there. His cock stirs eagerly in his trousers. 

“Ed… Edward,” he gasps, breaking from his lips to press kisses down his jawline, under his ear. Edward gasps and rocks against him.

“Do you— do you want to?” Edward asks, taking hold of Oswald’s wrist and sliding his hand up his thigh to cup his ass. It makes his meaning clear.

“Yes,” Oswald nods, squeezing Edward’s cheeks in both hands. He kisses down his neck. “Yes, I—“

“Is there— is there stuff in here?” Edward whines, rolling his hips against Oswald’s stomach in response to the ministrations on his ass and neck.

“There’s lube,” Oswald affirms, nibbling across Edward’s collarbone. He feels Edward’s nails dig into his back through his suit jacket.

“Gloves?” Edward asks, voice at least an octave higher than its usual pitch.

“You mean condoms?” Oswald clarifies, ceasing his assault on Edward’s pale throat to give him a chance to respond.

“No, I mean gloves,” Ed says. “You know, for…”

“Oh,” Oswald says. “I didn’t think—“

“I’d prefer it,” Edward says, “But we don’t need to. I’ll just…” He clambers out of Oswald’s lap, unwinding his legs from around him. 

“Where are you going?” Oswald asks, at a total loss for what Edward’s doing, and why he’s had to let him go even momentarily in this process. Perhaps more blood has been redirected from his brain than previously anticipated. 

“I’m going to… wash up,” Edward says, blushing and backing up across the room. His back hits the doorframe of the bathroom, and he looks momentarily startled by the impact. “I’ll be right back!” he assures Oswald, disappearing inside. Oswald hears the shower turn on, and he’s not sure exactly how long this is going to take. He undresses, down to his boxers, and folds his clothes for later. He fixes the sheets on the bed, tucking the comforter in securely. He pauses. Do people normally have sex on top of the comforter, or on the sheets? Sheets, probably, right? He feels like an idiot. Oswald pulls the comforter and sheet loose again and folds them neatly at the end of the bed. He fluffs the pillows and checks that they’re symmetrical. Edward would care about that kind of detail, he thinks. He fetches the lube from a drawer and climbs into the bed. All that’s left to do is wait.

He imagines he can hear Edward over the noise of the shower, palming himself through his boxers. Just as he’s considering getting up and investigating what Edward’s up to in there, the shower turns off. It’s another few minutes until Edward emerges wrapped in the robe once more. He’s flushed, hair damp and curly, and his glasses are fogged up. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Oswald blurts, unable to contain the thought now that this is actually _happening_ between them. Edward crawls up the bed to him, kissing him while he situates himself so that he straddles Oswald’s thighs. He inches closer, knees jammed against the pillows on either side of Oswald as he wiggles his way back into Oswald’s lap. Oswald gasps as his clothed cock nudges its way between Edward’s cheeks, hands digging into his hips as Edward moans and grinds down onto him. 

“You’re so handsome,” Edward pants, running a hand through Oswald’s hair. It’s combed back, and Oswald knows the style it’s in prominently displays his greying hairs. Edward’s surely noticed them by now. Just as he’s probably noticed Oswald’s wrinkles, his large belly, the fat under his chin. He doesn’t contradict him.

“How do you want me?” Oswald asks, hoping Edward will have some idea of what he likes in bed. Oswald hasn’t a clue.

“We need the lube first,” Edward says, and Oswald immediately grabs the bottle and holds it up. “Okay, good. Um…” Edward’s face reddens and he trails off, looking down. Oswald tips his chin up and kisses him softly.

“This is going to be really awkward,” Oswald says, smiling.

“I’m sorry—” Edward begins, and Oswald kisses him again.

“And that’s okay,” Oswald finishes. “I intend to have a _lot_ of practice after this.” Edward smirks, rolling his hips again. Well, at least he’s not so nervous anymore. 

“Promises promises,” he sighs, kissing Oswald. “Alright, I was wondering if you wanted to… to get me ready. I can do it if you don’t want to, I just needed the—“

“I want to,” Oswald says. “Should you lie down? This is probably going to take a while.”

“Probably,” Edward agrees, moving off his lap. He grabs a pillow and puts it under his hips, lying back so his head is comfortably on top of another. Oswald moves between his legs. Moment of truth. He reaches for the tie of Edward’s robe, waiting for him to nod before undoing it. It falls open on its own, revealing Edward’s pale chest for the second time in Oswald’s memory, as well as a few very new things. Edward’s cock is roughly the same size as his, perhaps a bit skinner to match the man it belongs to. Oswald wraps a hand around it, stroking. Edward’s hips buck wildly into his hand, and he cries out _. So sensitive_ , Oswald thinks, reaching down to cup his balls and roll them in his hand. Edward whimpers, twitching in his grasp. 

Oswald opens the bottle of lube, twisting the cap off to rip open the seal and throw it over the side of the bed and onto the floor somewhere. He puts it back on so he can squeeze what he needs out onto his fingers. Oswald presses a digit to Edward’s rim, teasing over it. He rubs circles around his hole, relaxing him and getting him wet. When he finally slips his index inside, Edward opens beautifully for him, taking it in one slow push. Oswald looks up from his task to see Edward biting his knuckle, eyes locked on Oswald. He moves his finger in and out, nice and slow, watching Edward’s reaction. His jaw clamps down harder on his knuckle, and his other hand reaches up to tug at his own hair. Oswald leans down to kiss him, pulling Edward’s hand out of his mouth with one hand and steadily moving his finger inside of him with the other. He links his hand in Edward’s and pins it to the bed, then licks over Edward’s bottom lip like Edward had done to him before, slipping inside when Edward gasps in response. Oswald mimics the movement of his finger with his tongue, pressing into Edward’s mouth and licking over his teeth. Edward sucks on his tongue and he presses his finger in a little harder than intended, making Edward moan wantonly under him.

“I can take another,” Edward pants, tilting his hips into every press of Oswald’s finger. He coats his middle and index finger again, teasing around Edward’s hole before dipping both inside. It’s not as easy as he’d taken the first, and already Edward feels tighter around him. He continues working both fingers inside of him, leaning down to tease his chest. Oswald licks over a nipple with the flat of his tongue, then sucks. Edward’s hands fly up to wind into his hair and keep his mouth pressed to his chest. Oswald scissors his fingers and bites down, encouraged when Edward cries out in response and doing it again. He switches to give his other nipple some attention, teasing it while he spreads his fingers inside of Edward and stretches his rim. He waits until Edward is practically sobbing with pleasure before pulling back and applying more lube. 

He leans over Edward to kiss him again, swallowing his groan of discomfort as he presses back into him with three fingers. Edward pulls his hair and sucks his tongue into his mouth. Oswald spreads his digits, twisting them, and Edward bites his bottom lip, hard.

“Ow,” Oswald says belatedly, a little shocked by how much that hurt. 

“Too much?” Edward gasps, fingers carding gently through Oswald hair in apology. He rocks down onto Oswald’s hand despite the fact that he’s stilled it.

“I just wasn’t expecting it,” he clarifies, kissing Edward to show there’s no harm done. Oswald crooks his fingers, feeling a spasm go through Edward’s body as he breaks the kiss, moaning loudly.

“Do that again,” he demands, wailing loudly when Oswald complies. He continues thrusting his fingers inside of Edward, pulling away to watch the way his cock leaks at the attention to his prostate. Oswald waits until Edward is twisting his fingers into the sheets and rocking desperately onto Oswald’s digits to ask if he’s ready for more. He wants Edward begging for him.

“Please, please, please, please, Oswald. _Oh_ ,” Edward moans, trying his best to meet Oswald’s fingers and get them into the perfect position. 

“Do you think you’re ready?” Oswald asks, voice deepening of its own volition.

“Yes, _oh_ — _yes!_ ” Edward says, voice high and breathy. He squeezes around Oswald’s fingers and moans, pressing his face into the crook of his elbow. His glasses are smudged more than Oswald has ever seen them, and he only intends to make it worse. Something about Edward’s disheveled state, seeing a man who is normally so collected lose his composure entirely… it’s an attractive look.

“You want it?” Oswald says, enjoying how sweetly Edward is crying out for him.

“I want it,” Edward pleads, swallowing hard, “I want your cock. I want you inside of me.” Oswald hisses, wrapping a hand around the base of his cock when Edward’s words make it twitch. It wouldn’t do to come now when Edward needed him.

“I’m going to fill you up, Edward,” he says, pulling his hand free from the clutch of Edward’s ass and observing the way his hole gapes around nothing. Clearly, he _needs_ a cock to fill him up.

“Yes! Oswald, please. I want you so badly,” Edward cries, dragging his nails down Oswald’s back. Oswald pulls his boxers down at last, removing them completely and feeling a vague sense of dread that Edward is going to reject him. Edward’s jaw drops. It’s not a bad sign necessarily, but in his self-conscious state he’s leaning towards perceiving it as one.

“Oh dear,” Edward breathes. “Maybe you should add another finger.”

“You think?” Oswald says, looking down at himself. He strokes his cock from base to tip, eyes on Edward. Edward’s gaze is fixated on his cock with a look of apprehension. Apprehension, and something dark in his eyes that calls to mind the feeling of hunger.

“I think,” Edward says. “No, definitely. You definitely need to.”

“I thought three was customary,” Oswald says, slicking his fingers with lube again.

“That,” Edward says, pointing a finger between Oswald’s legs, “is not customary.” Oswald snorts, sliding three fingers into him right off the bat. Edward whines and rolls his hips down onto them, leaving Oswald wondering if he actually wants to take his cock at all.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to go all the way,” Oswald says, “I’m fine with this.”

“That, _ah_ , that wouldn’t be fair,” Edward pants, thighs trembling on either side of Oswald. 

“This isn’t about fair, Ed, it’s sex,” Oswald says, working his pinky into that tight heat. “I want to pleasure you, and that wouldn’t be true if I was doing something to you that you don’t want.”

“I _do_ want that,” Edward insists, cupping the side of Oswald’s face. He brushes a thumb over his brow. “I just wasn’t expecting— um…”

“You weren’t expecting…?” Oswald teases, wanting to hear Edward say it.

“I wasn’t expecting you to be so... so _big_ ,” Edward manages to say, flustered and blushing even across his chest.

“You know,” Oswald begins, smirking deviously, “there’s something very satisfying about defying your expectations.” Edward rolls his eyes and then moans when Oswald crooks his fingers, no doubt successfully thwarting a biting remark. “What was that?”

“You’re too good at this,” Edward complains, pulling Oswald down to kiss him. He’s so worked up it’s more of a matter of pressing his lips to Oswald’s momentarily and then panting into his mouth, but it’s still very pleasing. Oswald presses farther, until part of his hand is being enveloped by Edward. His thumb prevents him from taking the rest, but that’s an experiment for another day. Edward’s whole body is tense, a coil wound tight, and Oswald can’t wait to be the one to pleasure him into a loose-limbed release. 

“Think that’s good?” Oswald asks again, pushing his hand in and out while Edward claws at the bed and screws his eyes shut. His head is tipped back, revealing the long column of his throat where Oswald had laid love bites earlier. He needs to add more.

“Yeah,” Edward says, voice cracking on a single syllable. Oswald wonders how close he is. He knows it’s going to take everything he has to last longer than a minute inside of that wet heat his fingers had been exploring earlier. He can’t even imagine how good it’s going to feel around his cock.

“You should turn over; it’s easier,” Oswald says, moving back and tapping at his hip. Edward flips over, his neglected cock pressing into the pillow. Oswald takes note of his scars again, how the stripes are liberally laid over his ass, some sneaking down onto the backs of his thighs as well. He hadn’t been able to see it earlier, but he’d guessed. Oswald coats his cock liberally with more lube, taking hold of himself. He fills Edward up again in one long, slow thrust, watching the way he fits inside like Edward was made to take him. He sucks in a breath at the thought, pressing his forehead between Edward’s shoulder blades.

“Are you alright?” he asks, pressing a kiss to the curve of Edward’s spine.

“It’s really good,” Edward says, “so good. You feel so good, Oswald.” Oswald feels his chest rise and fall under him, and he strokes his hands over Edward’s ribs. 

“Want me to move?” he asks, hearing the strain in his own voice as he tries to keep still. 

“Oswald… I’m really close,” Edward says, biting his lip.

“So am I,” Oswald admits, pressing kisses over Edward’s back and shoulders.

“I want to be on my back,” Edward says, holding one of Oswald’s hands as it settles next to him. Oswald wants to be able to clearly see Edward’s face when he comes, and the change in position would certainly facilitate that.

“Okay,” he says instead, and pulling out of Edward is agony. Edward turns over quickly, adjusting the pillow under his hips and putting an arm around Oswald’s shoulders to leverage himself into a kiss. 

“This is better,” Edward says, kissing him again. He reaches between them with his other hand, blindly feeling his way to Oswald’s cock and stroking him. It isn’t until Edward lifts his leg around Oswald’s waist that he realizes Edward is attempting to guide him back inside. He presses forward until they’re together again and it’s so much _more_ like this. Edward immediately wraps another leg around him, hooking his ankles and trying to press Oswald deeper. His arms come up around Oswald’s back, and he keeps kissing him like he’s desperate for it, winding a hand into Oswald’s hair so he can continue claiming his lips.

“You feel good, too,” Oswald groans, “better than I could have dreamed.” He rolls his hips inside of Edward and he moans, nails scraping down Oswald’s back. Even that feels good, in a way.

“Do it,” Edward says, pressing against him. “I want you to take me, come inside me... want to be _yours_.” Oswald groans. He takes Edward’s hips in his hands, pulling out about halfway and then slowly pressing back inside. Edward takes it well, clenching around him, and he does it again. Then again, and again, until he’s worked up to a faster pace, a harder one. Oswald pounds Edward into the mattress, fisting a hand in his hair and tugging his head back so he can bite at his throat and claim him here, too.

“Mine,” Oswald growls, biting hard at the crook of Edward’s neck and shoulder. “I’m close,” he pants, kissing Edward and wrapping a hand around his cock. Oswald isn’t quite ready for it when a few strokes later Edward comes, breaking the kiss to toss his head against the pillows, back arching. He yells loudly, eyes screwed shut, nails tearing into Oswald’s back as he drags them up to dig into the flesh of his shoulders. He spasms around Oswald’s cock, the sensation unexpected and taking Oswald over the edge at well. Oswald continues driving his hips into Edward as he works through his orgasm, struggling to maintain his focus on stroking Edward as well.

“ _Oh, oh, oh, oh_ , oh dear,” Edward cries with every thrust of his hips, still coming into Oswald’s hand and over his own chest and stomach. Oswald eventually slows to a halt, finished thrusting into Edward through the last of his climax. He finally releases Edward’s spent cock, prevented from pulling his own out when Edward lock his legs around him. “Not yet.”

“Fine by me,” Oswald says, hovering over Edward on his elbows. He’s reluctant to put his weight on Edward. The other man is panting like he just finished a triathlon, and he irrationally feels like he might crush him. Edward makes the decision for him and pulls him down anyways. Oswald feels his release between them, and he’s so dazed he doesn’t even mind. Edward lets his legs fall down onto the mattress at last, apparently trusting that Oswald won’t pull out until he wants him to. “I’m too heavy,” Oswald says, still keeping his full weight off of him.

“Just relax, Oswald,” Edward coaxes, rubbing his biceps and back over his shoulders. Oswald lays down fully, ready to move if Edward needs him to. “Feels good,” he sighs instead.

“It does?” Oswald asks, curious. Edward puts his hands on Oswald’s love handles and squeezes them affectionately. 

“Mhmm,” Edward says, sounding blissed-out in the afterglow. “Like the feeling of having you inside me, on top of me. Maybe next time you can pin me down…” he trails off, sounding contemplative.

“I wouldn’t be opposed,” Oswald chimes in, vividly imagining holding Edward down and fucking him into the mattress. His cock stirs. He traces the bite he left on Edward’s shoulder, already purpling. It’s perfect. Edward’s stomach rumbles. “Did you eat?”

“Five more minutes,” Edward says quickly. “Give me five more minutes like this and then I’ll make us both something to eat.”

“You’re that needy for my cock?” Oswald teases, reaching down to deliver a light slap to one of Edward’s cheeks. Not that he doesn’t intend to accept such an excellent offer. Edward whimpers, taking Oswald’s hand— still covered in his release— and licking his fingers. Oswald is transfixed by the sight.

“Please?” Edward says, looking up at him coquettishly through his lashes as he sucks his fingers into his mouth, pulling off with a pop. “I’ll make it worth your while.” Who could say no to that?

“We’re showering and getting dressed,” Oswald insists, “and I want onions in mine.” Edward’s nose wrinkles. 

“Then you’re not kissing me until you brush your teeth,” Edward bargains.

“Deal,” Oswald says, ending their negotiations with a kiss. “Five more minutes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last, resolved sexual tension. We have reached the climax (LMAO so PUNNY) of this story, with only two chapters left. Please let me know your thoughts and if you liked this chapter.


	5. If You Can't Stand the Heat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Oswald, we’re going to be the most powerful duo this city has ever seen.”
> 
> Edward is figuring out his dynamic with the freak family. Oswald plays referee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings, aside from mentions of past abuse. Additionally, Ivy and Victor have no tact. It's a shorter chapter, as is the next one, and my last update before a long road-trip. The last chapter will still be posted in about four days, as the others were.

In the time allotted, they make out lazily, enjoying their post-coital bliss. Edward manages to distract Oswald so thoroughly with his tongue that he doubles the amount of time he’d originally negotiated. When Oswald finally moves off of his chest, Edward’s release is sticking them together. Oswald pulls out of him, watching the way his come leaks out of Edward’s hole. He’s tempted to push it back inside with his fingers, but Edward needs to eat something substantial. When Edward stands it drips down his thighs, and Oswald feels a flash of desire to lick his way up those long, pale legs and eat Edward out until he’s clean again. 

No. Food. Edward needs to be fed. 

He keeps his hands to himself in the shower, a task made increasingly difficult when he’s forced to watch as Edward slips those long fingers inside of himself to clean out Oswald’s release. They both dry and dress without incident, though Oswald does slip a hand into the back pocket of Edward’s slacks when they begin making their way to the kitchen together. Oswald finds the ingredients for Edward, as well as the pan and spatula. It takes Edward about fifteen minutes to sauté everything and make the omelettes, and he’s just finished when Ivy and Victor wander into the dining area of the Lounge. Edward pauses, and then sets down a plate in front of Oswald. 

“Did either of you want one? I can make more. Victor, do you—?” Victor shakes his head. “Well, Ivy, you can take this one. No onions, and it’s vegetarian.”

“I’m good, Eddie,” Ivy chirps. “You guys worked up an appetite, huh?” Oswald chokes on a pepper. 

“Not a word,” he coughs, getting up to grab a glass of water from the bar. Edward hands him one. “Thank you, my dear,” he says, the term of endearment rolling naturally off his tongue. He waits for Edward to object, quickly sitting back down as heat rises to his face. Edward merely drops a kiss on his cheek and takes a seat beside him.

“Aw, you guys are so sweet! Aren’t they sweet, Victor?” He tilts his head, considering.

“Sickeningly,” he confirms, quickly tacking on, “as it should be.”

“We heard you,” Ivy says. “Well, mostly we heard Eddie.” Edward glances at Oswald and takes a sip of water. He’s not really sure how to handle these people, Oswald supposes.

“Ivy, you can either change the subject, or you can get the hell out,” Oswald replies mildly, spearing some more egg and shoveling a forkful into his mouth. She rolls her eyes and slumps into the seat next to Edward.

“Did you want to come see how I make my perfume today?” she asks him. Edward glances at Oswald and then back to her.

“You were serious about that?” Edward says, hesitant. Even after all this time, he still assumed people were making fun of him. Oswald is going to have to work on that. 

“Of course!” she says, hitting his shoulder. Edward flinches harshly. “What do you take me for? You’re Pengy’s boyfriend now, I want to know everything! You can tell me while I show you.” Edward looks back at Oswald a second time, but Oswald offers him no help. He’s backed himself into this corner. 

“Sure, Ivy,” Edward agrees, looking wary. That he should be, Oswald thinks, taking another sip of water. Ivy would talk his ear off until the sun went down. Thankfully, Edward was very tolerant when it came to hearing about someone’s special interests. He fondly remembers rescuing him from a man who collected grandfather clocks, who had lectured Ed for going on half an hour at a gala. Edward hadn’t seemed to have the heart to interrupt him, so Oswald had done it for him. Edward had of course insisted that he had the situation in hand, but Oswald knew better. Edward would have listened for hours on end when he was _supposed_ to be accompanying Oswald.

“Actually, I thought perhaps you’d like to come to my laboratory and learn about the process that’s kept you in stasis,” Victor says. Edward looks relieved at the excuse. Oswald doesn’t think he’s quite ready for a… _character_ like Ivy so soon. She could be exhausting. 

“I’d like that, Victor. Could I take a rain check, Ivy? Perhaps in a few days?” Edward activates that stupid (adorable) puppy face he’s mastered, and Ivy pats his arm. He moves away, out of reach, and Ivy takes her hand back. Oswald hopes Edward says something about the touching soon, this was the second instance in the past minute. 

“You should definitely do that first, we can gossip later,” she says. “Does that mean you’re free today, Pengy?” Oh no, it does. 

“Ah… Yes, Ivy. I assume you’d like to discuss your trip to the Amazon?” She’s only recently come back from an expedition, and a fruitful one at that.

“Would I ever?” she says, practically vibrating in her seat. Oswald can’t believe how many _nerds_ he’s managed to acquire under his roof. Victor finally decides to join them at the table, apparently having had his fill of standing around and _looming_.

“How did you sleep?” he asks Edward. Edward puts his fork down. “That good?”

“Worse,” Edward says. “I had a night terror, couldn’t really remember what it was I dreamed about afterwards. Oswald had to wake me up.” Victor turns his gaze on Oswald, frowning. Then again, his face might just be stuck like that. Otherwise, it’s probably because can tell Edward’s lying about something. Ivy also looks interested.

“I heard him through the wall,” Oswald chimes in. The content of Edward’s nightmare was his business.

“I also threw up. Just bile. I think my metabolism took care of any actual substance when I was in the ice,” Edward says, likely relaying this information to Victor as more of a scientific observation than any personal attempts to garner sympathy. Victor nods in consideration, but Ivy interrupts him before he can inquire further. He should have guessed she wouldn’t leave it alone, but then again, Edward doesn’t know her like he does.

“Oh my god, you threw up? Are you okay?” she quickly moves forward to try and press the back of her palm to Edward’s forehead, and Edward lurches away from her so violently he knocks his chair back and nearly goes down with it. Ivy pulls her hand back in shock.

“I’m sorry— I—”

“Ed?” Oswald calls, drawing his attention. He tries to keep his voice gentle. “Ivy sometimes needs to be informed of people’s boundaries.” Edward swallows and runs his nail over the pad of his thumb, back and forth. He wouldn’t say anything at all if left to his own devices. Most likely, he would just brush it off as an overreaction and pretend he didn’t really mind, when Oswald knows for a _fact_ that he minds very much indeed. 

“I’d prefer not to be touched. If you must, please slow down,” Edward explains, righting his chair. He doesn’t sit. 

“I understand,” Ivy says. “My dad was the same way.” Edward grips the back of the chair so hard his knuckles turn white.

“What?” he whispers. Ivy seems to realize she’s made another misjudgment.

“Sorry, I thought everyone knew,” she says. “I read everything about you after what happened. Once you were declared deceased people were able to get your medical records and things from Arkham.” Oswald glares at her, gesturing with one hand to stop speaking, but she doesn’t notice. Edward looks paler with each passing second.

“There are quite a few books about you, you know,” Ivy says, as though this information will somehow brighten his mood. Oswald has to remind himself that he likes Ivy and should _not_ kill her, and that Edward would have found out eventually. Oswald himself had never read any publications about him. He knew the real story, why read it from someone else? If he had known what information they contained, the authors surely would have been silenced before their biographies could be published. Unfortunately, Oswald had forbidden all mention of the ‘Riddler’ in his presence unless _he_ was the one bringing it up. Otherwise, he would have received this information much sooner. On the other hand, he’s grateful Edward was able to tell him about his past traumas himself. Learning through a book would have felt disingenuous. 

“Books?” Edward says, looking faint. “That many people… they all know?”

“Ivy, Victor, I think you should leave,” Oswald says. Ivy’s face falls. She immediately makes to leave, pausing before she’s through the door to turn back.

“I’m sorry, I thought maybe—” her bottom lip visibly trembles, and she flees. Oswald understands that she is looking to form a connection with Edward, but that certainly hadn’t been the best execution by any measure. It would have been far better for her to stick to plant trivia. Edward was much more receptive to discussing outside knowledge than personal matters. Oswald will talk with her later. Victor lingers.

“Edward,” Victor says. “If it’s any consolation, most of them were wildly inaccurate.”

“You read them!?” Oswald exclaims. Did none of his confidants tell him anything?

“Thank you, Victor,” Edward says, ignoring Oswald’s outburst. “That is a small consolation.” Victor nods, slowly turning and making his way out of the dining room.

“Edward,” Oswald says softly, “I had no idea—”

“I know,” Edward says, looking down. “It’s alright.” He glances up to watch Victor leave.

“Are you—?” The instant Victor is through the door, Edward is in his lap, hugging him fiercely. Oswald wraps his arms around him, holding Edward tightly to his chest. 

“I’m sorry about Ivy,” he says after a moment. “She still doesn’t always understand when she’s being inappropriate. Most of the time I appreciate her disregard of tact, but other times—”

“It’s an acquired skill,” Edward says, “I should know. What time does the Lounge open?” Oswald can’t blame him for wanting to change the subject.

“Four, why?” Oswald says, rubbing circles into Edward’s back as Edward hooks his chin over Oswald’s shoulder. 

“Can I borrow a car? I have some reading to do.” Oswald pushes Edward back by his shoulders.

“About yourself?” he asks, raising one brow. “A bit egotistical, don’t you think?”

“I need to know what everyone else knows,” Edward says. “I’ll be back before opening, alright?”

“Well, before you go, there’s one thing we haven’t discussed.” He takes Edward’s hand in his, linking their fingers. “What do I tell my guests about my missing centerpiece?”

“The truth is simplest,” Edward says. “I think you should tell them that I’m still yours, and now you’re mine.” Oswald squeezes his hand.

“You make it sound so simple,” Oswald says, “but if my enemies perceive this as a weakness on my part—”

“Oswald, I was unfrozen by your mercy and that alone. You kept me in ice for nearly ten years for what I did, unchallenged by the GCPD or anyone else, and you _love_ me. What kind of message does that send to the people you _hate_?” Edward says, stroking a hand down Oswald’s chest. 

“When I was frozen, I had just tried to kill you. Tonight, they’ll see me behaving myself, doting on you and being doted on in turn. They’ll see that you’ve thawed and tamed me _overnight_ , and that will also send quite the message.” Edward kisses him, pulling Oswald’s tie for leverage. When he leans back, his nose wrinkles.

“What?” Oswald says.

“Onions,” Edward answers, lip curling back in disgust. It takes Oswald a moment to catch his meaning, and then he snorts, delighted.

“Ignoring that digression, you make a solid argument,” Oswald says, glancing down at Edward’s lips. “Do you have any other... _points_ to make?” True to form, Edward misses his innuendo.

“In no way will our relationship make you appear weak,” Edward insists. “I’m the _Riddler_ , you’re the _Penguin_. Gotham has probably been praying to never see us at the same time, much less _together_. Oswald, we’re going to be the most powerful duo this city has ever _seen_.”

“Ah,” Oswald says. “I’m going to have to catch you up on current Gotham City politics, but there is another dynamic duo you should be made aware of when I get the chance. Be sure to remind me.” Edward looks a little put off by Oswald downplaying their— admittedly —powerful combination, but he nods. Oswald trusts him to remind him later, and then the real power plays can begin. He’s missed scheming with Edward, it had always been such fun.

“I will. Mostly because now you’ve got me curious. The car?” he asks again.

“I’ll inform my chauffeur, but be back at three. I’d like to dress you up.” Edward smiles and pecks him on the lips. 

“Will do. True crime novels are always a breeze to get through.” Edward stands, turning and collecting their plates.

“Edward, I’ll get the dishes,” Oswald says, holding a hand out for them.

“It’s alright, I cooked,” Edward says, refusing to relinquish them.

“Precisely. You cooked, I’ll clean.” He thrusts his hand out again. Edward eyes it warily.

“I’ll dry,” he says, handing them over. He grabs the silverware and glasses and follows Oswald as he makes his way into the kitchen. Oswald throws off his jacket and rolls up his sleeves to do dishes for the first time in years. Edward drops off his burden, grabs a rag, and leaves to clean the table. Oswald has already washed and dried their plates, silverware, and glasses by the time he returns. He’s dressed again, and even phoned their chauffeur. Oswald smirks as Edward enters, satisfied that he was able to complete the dishes without him. It was only fair. Edward pauses in the doorway.

“You’re done?” he asks, looking around the counter. 

“Yes, I’ll walk you out to the car,” Oswald says, offering his arm.

“They’re here?” Edward says, looping his arm through Oswald’s.

“Well, they’ll be here in a few minutes, at any rate.” Edward pauses.

“You called them while I was cleaning the table,” Edward says. Oswald tries to get him moving, but he doesn’t budge.

“Yes, now let’s get going,” Oswald says, tapping one foot impatiently.

“There’s no way you cleaned them that quickly,” Edward says. _That’s_ what he’s hung up on?

“Edward, darling, I was employed as a dishwasher for quite some time. You learn how to do them quickly,” Oswald says, moving to wrap one arm around Edward’s waist. He slithers free with a twist of his hips.

“Oswald, you couldn’t have cleaned them _properly_ in that amount of time. It’s unsanitary,” Edward says, throwing his arms out and then biting his knuckle. It’s then that Oswald realizes Edward had just eaten off those plates. No wonder he was throwing a fit. 

“They most certainly _were_ cleaned properly,” Oswald insists. “Now, let’s get going.” Edward allows Oswald to take hold of his hand and lead him to the door. The driver pulls up to the front walk right as they arrive. Just in time.

“Will you at least clean them again?” Edward asks, turning those damnable big brown eyes on him. 

“Alright,” Oswald sighs. “Only because I love you.” Edward practically swoons forward into him, planting a firm and open-mouthed kiss on his lips. He pulls away, eyes sparkling.

“Tell Victor we’ll talk soon; I’ll see you later.” There’s something of a promise in that, and Oswald takes comfort in it.

“Just be careful, you’re still relatively infamous,” Oswald cautions. It was only the library, but still. Not to mention the fact that he’s unmistakable in that bright green suit.

“I will be,” Edward says, walking down the steps to the car. He turns back. “And brush your teeth, you taste like onion.” The chauffeur opens the back door for him, and Edward shakes her hand and introduces himself. Oswald puts a hand on his cheek and watches fondly as he’s driven away. Oswald never had gotten around to teaching him proper etiquette regarding the help. He doesn’t think he ever will; Edward is just too adorable sometimes.

His first stop is to Victor’s basement laboratory, where he is hard at work with a file in his hands. A picture of Edward, encased in ice, is held onto the front of the file with a paperclip. 

“Hard at work as always, I see,” Oswald calls, announcing himself. 

“I’m updating my research,” Victor says. “Edward’s progress is almost the best I could have hoped for. Momentary confusion as to where his relationship with others stood in the current timeline of his memories, caused by confusion as to the order, meaning, and context of disjointed memories. Difficulty sleeping restfully, though that will have to play out longer in order to see if it is a permanent issue, and I’ll need to ask him if he’s experienced this before. Night terrors usually happen during the fourth stage of sleep, which is what he was experiencing in stasis. They’re different from nightmares in that nightmares and dreams occur during the REM cycle, and I believe it may be connected. I’ll need more data to confirm my hypothesis, but the side effects of being frozen for ten years seem comparatively minimal, all things considered. There’s always room for improvement, of course.” Oswald listens to his break-down with rapt attention. It was a matter of Edward’s health, after all. 

“Edward is highly intelligent,” he boasts. No reason not to if the man in question isn’t here to get an inflated ego. “That could have significantly impacted his ability to piece together his memories coherently, and so quickly.” Victor considers this.

“Would you say he has any particular ability for solving puzzles?” Victor says, completely serious.

“Does he _ever_ ,” Oswald says. “It’s a gift.”

“Activities like puzzle solving correlate with an improved memory,” Victor mutters. “Where is Edward?”

“Ah, that’s what I came to tell you. He’s gone to the library. He asked me to tell you that he’d like a rain check. I think he’s a little embarrassed about his behavior,” Oswald says.

“His reaction was understandable, how is he?” Victor says, making notes in his file.

“He’s fine now, thank you for asking,” Oswald says politely. “He’s gone to read those books, but I imagine he’ll finish them in a few hours and begin looking for articles about himself. I only hope he remembers how to do things on the down low.”

“Edward does seem to like drawing attention to himself,” Victor mumbles, “Provided he’s controlling the interaction. Would you say his personality traits and behaviors remained consistent before and after the stasis?”

“Absolutely,” Oswald says. “Taking into account that he didn’t remember that he wanted to kill me, and therefore did not attempt to do so, he still behaved similarly up to the point that he was able to recall and piece together the majority of his memories in the correct order.”

“The majority?” Victor asks.

“Well, I don’t know his whole life story, as you’re well aware. I also don’t know the details of everything he got up to after he ‘killed’ me,” Oswald says, making finger quotes in the air. Victor nods.

“Hence his trip to public records?” Victor asks.

“Undoubtedly,” Oswald says. “He remembers everything, it’s just a matter of getting everything in the right order. He’s done the bulk of it, but knowing him, he’s going to want _all_ of the answers as soon as possible.”

“Well, that works better for me,” Victor says, “I’d rather talk to him when he’s completed this process. I’ll let him know his rain check was actually appreciated. Otherwise, he’d be wasting my time.” Oswald’s lip twitches, but he doesn't say anything. Victor often lacked tact, and while blunt honestly was preferable to deception, Oswald was too used to sugar-coating things to always find it palatable. Even coming from Victor or Ivy. 

“Is there anything else you’d like to know?” Oswald asks.

“Yes. How was his performance during sexual intercourse?” Victor says, flipping to another page.

“Ex- _cuse_ me?” Oswald says, shocked. Victor takes it as a need for clarification.

“Was Edward able to achieve and sustain an erection, and if so, was he able to reach orgasm in a normal amount of time?” Victor recites coolly. He doesn’t look up from his file, therefore missing how red Oswald’s face had become, even in the subzero temperature of the lab.

“His _performance_ was fine,” Oswald bites out, taking it personally despite logically knowing he shouldn’t. He reminds himself to reign in his emotions. Victor isn’t the type to care about other people’s sex lives. He is making a scientific inquiry. He is not insulting Edward. Oswald takes a deep breath. “Will that be all?”

“Mmm,” Victor hums. “He remembered everything from yesterday when you spoke this morning?”

“He did,” Oswald says.

“Excellent,” Victor remarks, “Please send him to me when he’s completed his research and has cemented his memories.”

“I’ll certainly ask him,” Oswald says. He knows full well he can’t _send_ Edward anywhere he doesn’t want to go. Victor nods and buries his nose in his file again, and Oswald takes it as his cue to leave.

“You’re a very lucky man, Oswald,” Victor says, so quietly Oswald almost doesn't hear him.

“I certainly am,” Oswald says. Lucky that Edward was alright, lucky he’d been given a second chance, lucky to be with his one true love. It was only by the grace of the technology Victor had invented for his late wife that Oswald was able to have any of this. In a rare moment of empathy, his heart aches for Victor. For Nora. 

He leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ivy just wants to make friends, but Ed isn't exactly at a point where he can openly talk about his childhood. He wouldn't joke about having a rough childhood and shitty parents the way Ivy or Selina might. Her flippancy about the subject and the fact that she knew at all really threw him for a loop, and he'd been having such a nice morning before Victor had to ask about how he slept and Ivy continually invaded his space. Sigh. At least he has a cuddly boyfriend who understands that he would never have told Ivy to dial it back on his own. Nice work, Oz. 
> 
> As always, I thrive on comments.


	6. Accommodating As A Hog On Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well, you look good,” Gordon says, “What’s your secret?”
> 
> “Ice is absolutely fabulous for the complexion.”
> 
> Oswald and Edward navigate the reveal and fallout.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter. No beta. Safe For Work.

The first item on his agenda is to brush his teeth for Edward. When that’s done, he catches one of his workers and informs him that that two of the guest rooms need cleaning. The boy scuttles off, and Oswald heads back to the kitchen. He rolls up his sleeves and fetches the dishes from earlier. He had promised Edward, after all. The task is actually somewhat soothing, all things considered. He decides to do the rest of the dinner plates. Then the glasses and silverware. At this point, he may as well make sure the pots and pans are passable. He wipes down the counters and cutting boards, and cleans the grill. He changes the frying oil and takes it out back, then makes sure the walk- ins are meticulously organized. He throws out some bad cheese and makes a note to throw a tantrum at some unwitting chef over it and fire them. All the while, he mulls over how he should dress Edward and himself for their big reveal tonight. By the time he’s done, the kitchen is nearly spotless, and the staff are beginning to trickle in for prep. He hadn’t realized it had gotten so late, so dedicated to the task of bringing things up to snuff and preparing for tonight.

“I want you to sweep and mop before you get started,” he instructs. They hurry to comply. He calls his head chef over, informing her that he’s cleaned everything in the kitchen, and that she should inform everyone that things are to remain as spotless as they are now. She nods and leaves to turn on the ovens. His favourite busboy walks in and gets the same chat about the dishes, then he’s heading for his own car to drive back to the manor and select the attire he’d decided on. He returns to the Lounge at exactly five minutes before three, as does Edward. Punctual as always.

“Did you miss me?” Edward calls, stepping out of the car before the driver has a chance to open the door. Oswald pulls a suit out of the back for him. 

“Who are you?” Oswald teases, handing the suit over. 

“That’s not funny,” Edward whispers with a smile, leaning down to kiss Oswald on the nose. He takes the suit from Oswald and holds his hand. 

“Did get what you needed?” Oswald asks. 

“Oh, yes. I read all five novels and went through newspaper archives. It was good to be able to put a date to things. Victor was right about the novels, most of their theories about what drove me to become the Riddler were wildly inaccurate. They hardly even mention you at all. I suppose you were the one who secured a death certificate?” Oswald nods.

“I had Victor, Ivy and myself serve as witnesses for your suicide. Everyone in Gotham knew that you were really in the ice at the Lounge, but I was untouchable to the GCPD, and they did nothing to intervene. It was easier to file the papers and declare you dead. Wasn’t like you’d be coming back.” Edward nods, allowing Oswald to open the door for him. 

“I can’t wait to see what you picked out for me,” Edward says, following him to the office.

“I hope you’ll like it. By the way, Victor was actually happy— well, as happy as he gets —to hear that you’d decided to piece things together more thoroughly before speaking with him,” Oswald says, opening the door to his office and ushering Edward through.

“Good, then it all worked out for the best,” he says, looking around. “I like what you’ve done.” Oswald feels his chest swell with pride. He places his suit on the desk and notices the large birdcage and its inhabitant in the corner, approaching it.

“Fuck,” says the bird. Edward snorts.

“African grey parrot,” he announces. “Is its name ‘fuck’ or is that because of you?”

“That’s my fault,” Oswald admits. “It’s what she hears most of the time.”

“Who’s a pretty bird?” Edward asks her.

“Asshole,” the bird remarks neutrally. 

“Really, Oswald?” Edward says, casting a judgmental eye over him.

“This is where the magic happens,” Oswald says. “Sometimes the magic is frustrating.” Edward rolls his eyes.

“They’re so intelligent,” he says. “Can I take her out?”

“You can let her out after our big premiere,” Oswald promises. “She’s feisty, and she won’t go back in until she’s ready; which is never. I have to coerce her.”

“Understandable,” Edward says. “They need a lot of attention to stay happy. She doesn’t bother you?”

“No,” Oswald says. “I needed the company.” It feels like an admission. He clears his throat.

“Why don’t you see what I’ve picked out for you?” Oswald says, changing the subject.

“Am I getting dressed in here?” Edward says, looking around. There are massive bay windows looking outside, not that anyone could see them up here. Oswald leans back against his desk. 

“That was the idea,” he says, casually examining his nails. Edward pulls the suit from the cover and smiles fondly. It’s a forest green material with black velvet, one Oswald had bought him once he’d noticed Edward’s tendency to wear the green pinstriped and tinted suits more often. It’s not as garish and shimmering as the Riddler suit, but it’s still unmistakably green, and will be in the Lounge’s stark white lighting. He’d worn it the night of Oswald’s celebratory party at the _Sirens_ so long ago, and Oswald hopes that wearing it will remind the gossips of the camaraderie they’d once shared. Oswald had matched it with one of his own ties, a familiar purple with spiral patterns.

“I’m more partial to this on you,” Edward says, thumbing over the material of the tie. Oswald smiles.

“You remember,” Oswald says, laying out the pieces of the suit for him.

“I remember everything,” Edward says quietly, setting the tie down. “You decided on the darker brocade instead. You were right about it… About a few other things, as well. I should have been your plus one to that dinner.”

“Edward,” Oswald says, taking hold of his biceps, “That’s in the past. You’ll be with me tonight. Besides, I’m glad you weren’t there, Tetch might have harmed you.” Edward nods, and Oswald helps him pull off his suit jacket, setting it down. He’d also grabbed a purple waistcoat for him. Though he could still wear the white button-down shirt he had on, Oswald had brought a fresh black one, as well as an undershirt. He’d skipped the underwear for several reasons. One being that he had felt very strange about entering Edward’s room at the manor, still untouched, to retrieve his clothes. It almost felt like trespassing, as he still considered the space to belong to Edward for some inexplicable reason. Rifling through his underwear drawer would certainly be a step beyond that, and was reason number two. The leather of Edward’s belt and shoes had kept well in the ice, but had been damaged by the water. He’d brought another belt, but the shoes would have to wait. It wasn’t that noticeable, anyways. Edward strips out of his clothing, passing it off to Oswald to fold. 

Oswald begins handing him clothes to dress in, helping him pull on and straighten things when he thinks it will speed up the process. The quicker Edward covers up, the better for his self-control. He picks lint off his shoulders and smooths over them. There are no mirrors in the office, so he straightens Edward’s tie for him. Edward buttons the jacket and spread his arms.

“How do I look?” he says, doing a twirl. The parrot wolf whistles at him, and Edward smacks Oswald’s shoulder playfully.

“That was Georgette, but I’m inclined to agree,” Oswald says, taking hold of Edward’s hips.

“You dog,” Edward says, putting his arms about Oswald’s shoulders and stepping closer. He leans down to kiss him, and Oswald tilts his head back. He slips both hands down into Edward’s back pockets, and it’s a snug fit. Edward whines and pushes closer, and Oswald removes his hands to settle back on his hips and put some distance between them.

“One last thing,” he says, pulling a pair of cufflinks from his pocket. They have a gold setting and a square amethyst each. He slips them into Edward’s sleeves. Edward brings his wrist up to admire them.

“They’re perfect,” he says, bending to lay another kiss over Oswald’s lips. “Thank you.”

Oswald’s own wardrobe consists of a black suit and shirt, paired with a purple waistcoat, tie, and pocket square. He’d wanted them to match, which was his intention when he’d dressed Edward in his now signature color. There was no time to commission or make him a full suit in purple, but it pairs nicely with Edward’s preferred green. Perhaps he can convince him to adopt the color scheme. The gold of the cufflinks had been a byproduct of wanting Edward to wear his amethyst cufflinks, but the entire ensemble certainly makes a statement. It’s nearly time, and Oswald normally likes to look things over before doors open. He holds out his arm for Edward.

“Shall we?” he asks, and Edward links their arms.

“We shall,” Edward says, grinning wide. He follows Oswald as he gives out last minute directives to make things perfect inside the Lounge. 

“It’s incredible, what you’ve built here,” Edward remarks, studying every detail. 

“Thank you,” Oswald says, “it’s my second love.” Edward blushes.

“I hope it won’t be too much competition for me,” he jokes, tapping the fingers of his freehand against Oswald’s arm.

“Not even close,” Oswald says, still walking his usual round.

“Why Georgette?” Edward exclaims, the question bursting forward. No doubt it’s been on his mind since Oswald first told him her name.

“I named her after the fabric,” Oswald says. He pauses. “Tailoring is my third love.”

“I’m not good at sharing. One other suitor was too many, but two?” Edward remarks, snagging a mint out of a bowl and popping it into his mouth.

“Neither am I,” Oswald says, and then, “I can’t wait to fit you myself.” His mind wanders, imagining Edward’s slim figure in a Georgette evening gown. Perhaps after he makes him a suit to replace the green monstrosity he’d been cavorting around in during Oswald’s absence. He had technically been wearing said monstrosity every day for the past ten years, and if Oswald never saw him in it again, it would be too soon. 

When the doors open, Oswald is there to greet his early bird guests graciously, as always. He introduces Edward to everyone he knows, and something about this reminds him of being on the campaign trail so many years ago. Shaking hands, Edward with his winning smile next to him. One young bachelor is so bold as to dip and press a kiss to Edward’s knuckles, grinning like a shark at the smell of new blood.

“I haven’t seen you around here before,” he says. Oh, what a moron. Edward looks just as unimpressed. 

“I’ve been here,” he says vaguely. “Look harder.” Oswald puts a hand on the small of Edward’s back just as he glances down.

“I see,” he says, “Have a nice night, fellas.”

“You really don’t,” Ed mutters. “I thought you said people gawked at me regularly.”

“In the beginning,” Oswald says. “I sold pictures.” Edward gasps and puts a hand on his chest.

“Of lil’ ‘ol me?” he says, affecting an accent akin to that of a southern belle. “Not that I expected anything less. I’m so glad I missed out on you gloating over your victory.”

“The novelty wore off after a few years, for both the clientele and myself,” Oswald continues. “Now people come for the booze, the atmosphere, the music, and the chance to rub shoulders with the most dangerous men and women in Gotham.”

“You’ll have to update me on who that is, nowadays,” Edward says. Oswald is dreading telling Edward about the legacy his stint as the Riddler had left in Gotham. He was the first in a long line of career villains, a profession that was on the rise until things in Gotham had gotten so bad that one man had dressed up as a bat to rise to the challenge they created; which the GCPD alone couldn’t meet. Edward’s ego was large enough. Not only that, but his infamy had kickstarted the success of the Lounge. Oswald refuses to give Edward any credit, of course. It had been _his_ idea to freeze him, and therefore any benefit is his alone to claim. 

The evening’s entertainment takes the stage, and Oswald brings Edward to his preferred table, pulling out a chair for him. Edward smiles bashfully at the gesture. Oswald wonders if he’s the first person to ever do so for him. Edward had only dated women before, so it was quite likely. Something about that is very satisfying to him. He signals one of his bartenders, and she immediately mixes his drink, passing it to a waiter to bring to him. The waiter sets down his glass, and Oswald gestures for him to wait a moment.

“Edward, would you like anything from the bar?” Edward tears his eyes from the musicians playing.

“Oh, um… I probably shouldn’t,” he says, turning to the waiter. “Thank you; I’m all set.” 

“Are you feeling alright?” Oswald asks. Edward’s brows furrow like he doesn’t understand the question, then the ghost of a smile graces his face.

“I’m something of a light weight, as you may recall. Not to mention I’ve already throw up once today,” Edward says, casting a look around in case someone might be listening in.

“Did you want something to eat, at least?” Oswald asks. 

“I have yet to receive a copy of the menu,” Edward says, fidgeting in his chair. Oswald smiles, thoroughly endeared by him.

“You can have anything you want,” Oswald says, explaining what he’d thought was obvious to Edward. “You’re not a _patron_ , you’re here with me.” Edward scoots his chair closer and places his hand over Oswald’s on the table.

“How’s the lobster?” he asks, dark eyes twinkling. Oswald wants this moment to last forever.

“GCPD, let us through!” barks a voice like gravel. A familiar voice, one that Oswald had a very strict agreement with to never to enter this establishment. 

“Commissioner Gordon!” Oswald calls jovially, standing to greet him. This had better be important, or he was going to make his life a living hell for interrupting his time with Edward. “What can I do for you, old friend?”

“I’m here to arrest Edward Nygma for multiple counts of murder, abduction, grand larceny… you get the idea.” The club is virtually silent, save the band valiantly performing on. Never a dull moment in Gotham. There are several officers with him, none important enough for Oswald to recognize. They obviously weren’t on his payroll, or they wouldn’t be here.

“I’m fairly certain I’ve hit the statute of limitations on most of those, and— oh, you’ve got a little something on your lip,” Edward says, brushing under his nose with one finger. Everyone within hearing range snickers quietly. Gordon turns his glare on Nygma.

“Well, you look good,” Gordon says, “What’s your secret?”

“Ice is absolutely fabulous for the complexion,” Edward quips, “Though I’m sure you knew all about that already.” The double meaning is clear. Jim _had_ known Edward was trapped. Yet he’d done nothing at all in the past _ten years_ to give Gotham City’s criminal justice system its day to prosecute him, in lieu of Oswald’s form of justice. He was on shaky moral grounds, and Edward had already picked up on it. Those two had always had a back and forth of that sort, Oswald supposes.

“Come quietly,” Jim says gruffly, pointedly ignoring Edward’s implication. 

“You’re in neutral territory, Jim,” Oswald reminds him. “I should warn you about the consequences of making an arrest on these grounds.”

“You have a problem with me taking _him_ into custody?” Jim says, his disbelief clear.

“Edward and I have come to an understanding,” Oswald says. He sharpens his gaze on Jim and adopts a more threatening lilt, “Consider him to be under my protection.”

“I’m right here,” Edward chirps, waving. Both Jim and Oswald realize almost simultaneously that they’ve been ignoring him while discussing his fate. Sheepishly, Oswald backs down from his standoff with Jim and returns to sit on the bench seat of their spacious booth.

“Apologies,” he says, lifting Edward’s hand to his lips and kissing his knuckles. 

“An understanding?” Jim repeats, eyes widening at the gesture. Edward’s eyes narrow.

“Does that bother you?” he says, standing up. Jim gapes at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish.

“What? No! No, I have no problem with— with that!” he stutters. 

“Good,” Edward says. He blatantly ignores the significant amount of free space in the booth— as well the chair he’d been sitting in before— in favor of plopping down to sit on Oswald’s lap. He puts his arms around Oswald’s shoulders and crosses his legs at the knee, letting them dangle over the seat.

“I think you should get going,” Oswald says. “You’re causing a scene, and it’s making me very unhappy.” Jim’s jaw tightens, but he turns, recognizing the reminder for what it is and leading his people back out onto the street.

“’Under your protection’?” Edward mocks. “What am I? Some fainting damsel?”

“’Does that bother you’?” Oswald mocks in turn. “Were you trying to make him uncomfortable?”

“Of course I was,” Edward smirks. “Anything to get a rise out of ‘ol Jimbo. That moustache is hideous, by the way.”

“It is,” Oswald laments. Why did people with good facial features squander them so?

“Something tells me you like it,” Edward says. Oswald had lost track of the conversation while considering facial hair of his own. Edward couldn’t manage more than stubble, that much he knew.

“Like what?”

“You like me like this,” Edward says, shifting in his lap and moving his face closer. “You like showing me off.”

“You’re… not incorrect in your assessment.” Having Edward so brazenly display their relationship to one of their oldest rivals had been somewhat thrilling.

“Excellent,” Edward says, baring bright white teeth in a wide smile, “Seeing as I quite like showing off.” He leans in and kisses Oswald, and even when Oswald closes his eyes he can still see the flashes of cameras capturing this moment. He’s going to have it framed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment? This is the end.


End file.
